Feylin's Story
by Calanteli
Summary: A spirited Dalish elf gets more than she bargained for when she drags her best friend into a mysterious cave. Forced to become a Grey Warden, she must learn to navigate the treacherous world of Thedas if she is to survive the coming Blight.
1. The Demon's Doorway

**Chapter 1 – The Demon's Doorway**

"_And since you know you cannot see yourself,_

_so well as by reflection, I, your glass,_

_will modestly discover to yourself,_

_that of yourself which you yet know not of_."

– Shakespeare

"And you call yourself a hunter…" I remarked sourly as I watched the deer shoot off through the undergrowth.

"And you call yourself a tracker?" asked Tamlen with equal dryness as he eased himself out of his crouch, a few joints creaking in the process. "You make almost as much noise as a _shem_ trampling through the underbrush, yet you expect animals _not_ to notice your presence? You should consider yourself lucky that this buck at least gave you the benefit of a doubt before bounding off."

In response, I gave him a friendly shove that caught him unawares and sent him toppling into a nearby bush. Even though I was considered to be a bit short – even by Dalish standards – I could muster what muscle and bulk I _did_ have when I needed to. Tamlen had always considered himself the smarter of the two of us – with a smart mouth to go with it! – while I considered it my Creators-given job to put him back in his place every once in a while. After all, I _was _the elder.

Slinging my bow over my shoulder with practiced ease, I stepped onto the almost indiscernible path that would lead us back to camp. That I was disappointed was an understatement. Tamlen and I had set out before daybreak from camp, had waited for hours in unnatural positions, concealed amongst itchy leaves, waiting for the opportune moment, only to have all our quarries escape before we even got a shot off. The fact that we were inexperienced hunters (having only been initiated less then a moon ago) was not an excuse in my world. Us Dalish were one with the forest and we should be able to…

My thought process was interrupted when I was grabbed from behind by Tamlen. Assuming that it was pay-back for my shoving him into the bush, I twisted around and elbowed him hard in the stomach. Growing up, I, along with every other Dalish child in our camp, had been encouraged to participate in mock-fights. It was a way of becoming acquainted with the ways of one's body from an early age, and learning how to control every muscle, joint and reflex with skill and precision. Such talents were essential to our survival in the Wilds and, occasionally, on the fringes of society. It allowed us to step quietly through the undergrowth and between the shadows, and to defend ourselves against both animals and _shemlem_. It was also a way of keeping the last vestiges of our culture alive – by practicing the same, age-old fighting techniques that our ancestors had perfected before all had gone to ruin, we honoured their memories and accomplishments…and prepared ourselves to one day take back what had been taken from us. I had attacked my training with vigour and enthusiasm, and was considered to be one of the most promising young hunters – an accomplishment that was exemplified by Tamlen's groaning form in the dirt – but one could not rectify the fact that we would be returning to camp empty-handed. Though it had felt good to take out some of my frustrations on my friend, as impromptu as it had been…

"Your know, Fey, for a girl you are really rough…" Tamlen complained out as he rose painfully from the ground. "Are you sure you are not trying to compensate for something?"

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to be compensating for?" I asked archly as I watched him dust himself off.

"Oh, off the top of my head? Let's see… Your gender, your height, the fact that your paren–"

"Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?" I asked in a cheerful voice that belied a _very_ dangerous undertone. I hated it when he picked at that chink in my armour. It was one of the very few things that could seriously ruffle my optimistic, carefree attitude.

Tamlen gave me a long, level look before shrugging. "In any event, I was…" Suddenly, he froze and he swivelled his head to the east. "There it is again…closer now… Do you hear that?"

Turning towards the direction of the main road, my anger in response to Tamlen's callous remark dissipated as I strained to make out whatever it was that had caught my friend's attention so fully. Even though elves had keen ears, trained to discern even the smallest of sounds, it was still a mean feat to sort through all the bustle of the forest for a noise that may or may not exist. But as I listened, I slowly began to make out a sound that did not belong in the woods – the sound of pounding boots.

"_Shemlem_," we gasped together, as realisation dawned. No self-respecting Dalish would allow himself to rustle anything more than a single leaf while moving through the forest. Humans, on the other hand, had no respect for Nature and trampled with greedy unconcern across anything that stood in the way of their quest for dominion. At least, that's what Paivel, the old _hahren_, kept reminding us about.

"Do you think it's a raiding party?" I asked in a tight voice as we quickly hid ourselves behind an oak tree that overlooked the road. We had heard horror stories about another clan, who lived closer to the edge of Brecilian Forest, being attacked by upstart villagers who had formed gangs to raid the woods and destroy elven camps for sport.

"I hope not," replied Tamlen, though his brow furrowed with concern as he readied his bow. "But we should be prepared nonetheless." I nodded, notching an arrow in my own bow. "Listen," he said suddenly, with uncharacteristic gruffness. "If it does turn out to be a raiding party, I want you to run as if rabid wolves were chasing you and warn the camp. I will stay to delay them. Understood?"

"But…"

"_Understood?_"

I glared at him and he stared back with a compromising gaze. When he got like this, I knew it was pointless to argue. I heaved a discontented sigh. "Yes…" I did not like this plan one bit. True, Tamlen was an excellent archer, and I have never known him to back down from a fight. But, even so, would he really be a match for a pack of fanatical _shem_? I hated to think of leaving my best friend to fight alone, but one of us did need to warn the camp, especially if…

"Ha! Will you look at that?" laughed Tamlen softly as the intruders rounded the bend. "A rabble of boys lost in the woods. And to think that we were scared for our lives! Pah! I say we teach them to think twice before trespassing on our lands again…"

Before I could say anything, he had stepped out from his hiding-place and was advancing slowly on the boys. The fact that he had an arrow aimed at their heads did not seem to dawn on them until they nearly crashed into him, so focused they were on outrunning whatever was chasing them.

"It's a Dalish!" cried one in fearful surprise as he slid to stop on his behind, inches from Tamlen's feet.

"And you're somewhere you shouldn't be…" replied Tamlen menacingly, drawing his bow back in a meaningful manner.

The other two managed to skid to a halt as well, and watched with wide eyes as I moved to my friend's side, attempting to stifle the grin on my lips. I had never seen a human up close before, but looking at the three in front of me now made me want to laugh. Their clothes were ragged and torn, covered in dust, cobwebs and bits of twig. They had no weapons with them and one of them looked like he was either trying very hard not to piss his pants, or was about to faint. Maybe both. In any event, it was hilarious. Tamlen had been right – to think that _we_ were scared of these worms was just ridiculous!

"Let us pass, _elf_," demanded the tallest one, stepping forward. Tamlen swept his arrow-point to the _shem_'s chest, which made him pause and swallow loudly. "Y-you have no right to stop us," he finished, slightly less sure of himself. His companions looked on mutely, probably hoping that their friend's recklessness wouldn't get them all killed.

"Oh, really? And what gives you _bandits_ the right to trespass across this forest?" I asked, joining the theatrics. I was already imagining the awed expressions of the clan when Tamlen and I recounted how we saved the camp from bloodthirsty rogues! Not that that was the case, but all stories were embellished somewhat, weren't they?

"We're not bandits!" cried the second in outrage, apparently having decided that he will not soil himself, nor faint in the process…much to my disappointment. I narrowed my eyes at him, which prompted him to cry, "I swear! Please don't hurt us!"

"You _shemlem_ are pathetic," drawled Tamlen, advancing slowly forward. "In fact, it's hard to believe that you drove us from our homeland." Looking over, I could see that his clear blue eyes were sparkling with enough humour and mischief to light up the entire forest. The humans must be _really_ stupid if they did not notice that we were merely teasing them… Despite our bravado, we would never kill anything in cold blood…unlike the _shem_, if the shocking tales of past human atrocities that Paivel recounted to us could be believed.

"W-we've done nothing to you Dalish! W-we didn't even know this forest was yours!" protested the third one. The other two were nodding in vigorous agreement.

"You've done _nothing_?" Tamlen spat on the ground in disgust, making the three humans cringe. His voice dropped menacingly low, the light-hearted acting suddenly gone. "You _shems_ are like vermin – breeding in vast numbers until you destroy the very land with the diseases you carry. Your bring war, torture, corruption, and exploitation wherever you go. It is high time that this infestation is stopped… What do you say, _lathelan_? Shall we deal out the punishment they deserve?"

Okay, maybe I had jumped to conclusions about Tamlen's intentions… I stared at my best friend in mute horror. I had known him my whole life, and would have never imagined that he harboured such vicious hatred for humans. Of course, all Dalish were taught to resent the _shem_ for what they did to us – that it was because of them that we were forced to live as landless vagabonds, our culture, language and history lost, perhaps forever. But I had never known that Tamlen carried that resentment so close to his heart; almost as if he blamed _personally_ the three humans in front of us now… Which was just ridiculous. Those events happened centuries ago, and probably no human alive now remembered them. Could you really punish them for a crime that they did not know they committed? Plus, I was not sure if I was ready to kill _real_ _people_ yet…

"I think we should find out what they were doing in the forest before we deal out anything," I replied, hoping that reason would prevail over baser emotions. Plus, I was curious. It's not every day that you find _shem_ so close to the heart of Brecilian.

"Does it matter?" ground out Tamlen impatiently. "I don't care if they were hunting or picking daisies. I say we kill them before they cause any more trouble."

The _shem_ gaped at us in alarm. Finally, the second one found his voice and stuttered, "L-look… W-we didn't come h-here to be t-trouble… We just found a c-cave…"

"Yes!" piped up the tall one. "A cave! W-with ruins like you've never seen before! We thought there might be…umm…"

"Treasure?" asked Tamlen dispassionately, causing the three to shuffle their feet guiltily. "What? Is it not bad enough that you're trespassers and cowards, but now you have to add 'thieves' to the list of your admirable qualities?"

"You should add 'liars' as well," I noted wryly. "We know this forest inside and out. There are dozens of caves, but none of them have ruins." Nonetheless, my curiosity was piqued…and then it virtually exploded when the tall one pulled something from his pocket.

"I-I have proof!" the tall one declared, his confidence back once more. He opened his hand to reveal a curious-looking stone. "We found this just inside the entrance," he explained, handing it over.

"This stone has carvings!" I breathed in surprise as I studied the pebble I was now holding. "Wait… Is this elvish? _Written_ elvish?" If it was, and if what the three humans were saying was true, it could redefine Dalish history! Looking up, I could see sparks of interest lighting up in Tamlen's eyes too.

"T-there's more back in the cave," continued the tall one. "W-we didn't get very far in though…"

"Why not?" I asked, barely able to contain the excitement rising in my chest. I was already imagining the miles of winding passages to be explored, the treasures to be unearthed and…

"There was a demon!"

"What?" I gasped incredulously. Battling supernatural creatures had not been on my list of things to do!

"It was _huge_!" confirmed the second. "With wicked claws and black eyes and…"

"A demon… Really…?" interjected Tamlen, unconvinced. "Are you sure you weren't just jumping from shadows?"

"Where is this cave?" I cut in. Demon, or no demon, I _had _to see this place!

"It's to the west… I think…" the third one answered, without much certainly. "There is a rock face with a crack down the middle that leads to a wide entrance hall. At least, that's what it looked like to me."

Tamlen gave the trio an unimpressed once-over before saying, "Well, I think that's enough storytelling for one day." I shot him an annoyed look, but he ignored it, focusing on the _shem_. "Now, unless you want to experience _real_ terror, I suggest you make yourselves scarce."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" they gushed, nearly falling over themselves in gratitude. "We won't bother you again! We swear!"

"Just get a move on," sighed Tamlen. "Before I change my mind…"

"Of course! Of course!" they agreed, already sprinting noisily back down the path.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked, slightly irritated, once they were out of sight. "They were just _boys_."

"They were _shem_. They got the treatment they deserved," came the unconcerned reply. "Come, it's getting late. We should get back to camp."

"What? You can't be serious! Aren't you even the slightest bit intrigued by this cave?"

"I'm not about to go exploring some random hole in the ground just because a _shem_ thought it contained treasure. We Dalish are above such behaviour."

"But you saw what they found! Imagine what it could mean if there was more of it!"

"It was just a stone. And it could be human for all we know. Or dwarven. Or nothing at all."

"Fine. Have it your way," I grumbled. "But when I come back to camp bearing mounds of lost lore and heaps of treasure and become a celebrated hero, you're going to wish you had listened to me," I threw back at him as I started down the path.

"Hey, hey! Hold up a minute!" he cried as he ran up to block my way. I folded my arms across my chest and gave him a dispassionate look. "Okay, I admit I am curious," Tamlen acceded. "_But_, we shouldn't rush in with unrealistic expectations. Those _shem_ were mere country bumpkin who probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Elvish and Dwarvish if it hit them in the face. So they found some ruins... It could be something, but we should also remember that it could be nothing. That's all."

"You really love pouring cold water over my prospects, don't you?" I asked with mock indignation as we fell into step down the beaten track.

"Someone has to. Otherwise you might spontaneously combust from those unrealistic expectations that you are burning beneath the surface," he replied with a wink.

"A life lived without passion is a life not lived at all," I countered, quoting the truth I lived my life by.

"Yes… I know. You never fail to remind me," he remarked wearily as we strolled past a bubbling brook.

Walking now in companionable silence, I took the time to sneak a couple of glances at my best friend. He walked purposefully, the fingers of one hand resting on the string of his bow, ready to put it into use at a moments notice. His head was downcast, but his blue eyes weren't paying attention to the ground. I wondered what he was thinking about… Was he somehow apprehensive about our latest adventure? Had the _shem_ riled him up more than he let on? Had he really been serious about killing them? Did he regret not having done so? Or was it something else? I guess I could only wonder – I had never been able to read Tamlen very well. Even though he was generally open and friendly, he had a habit of closing himself up when something was bothering him. Despite many attempts on my part and on the part of others to try and help him by talking about whatever it was that was eating at him, he would nonchalantly shrug us off. But once whatever problem he was having had been solved, he would revert back to his former, cheerful self. This had been slightly confusing at first – especially since I tended to proclaim my hopes and worries to the entire world, whether or not people wanted to listen – but I had gradually grown used to it.

Even though Tamlen was the exact opposite of me in so many ways, I was glad he was coming along. The two of us had shared every great adventure we've ever had, from stealing strawberries from the food cache when we had been just infants, to becoming initiated as hunters in the past moon. No matter what I may have said before, I was not about to start breaking that well-established tradition now. Sharing an adventure with a friend was always better than going alone. And even if Tamlen was right, and the cave did turn out to be unremarkable, Paivel had once told me that the journey is more important than the destination, and I, for one, was willing to agree.

Rounding the bend, we found ourselves in a small clearing dominated by a massive rock face. An sprawling, age-old willow bent sagely over the creek that we had been following, her wispy branches almost completely obscuring a narrow crack in the rock.

"This must be the cave!" I cried, rushing forward excitedly. Tamlen followed more warily, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

"Now just wait a minute, _lathelan_," he cautioned, grabbing my arm as I was about dive head-first into the opening. "Like I said before, we have no idea what's in there. It could be nothing, or we may be walking into a nest of giant spiders. So let's just take it nice and slow. And at the first sign of trouble, we're out of here. Understand?"

"Yes, yes…" I replied grudgingly. "Can we go now?" Why did he _always_ have to dampen my fun?

"Lead the way."

I didn't need to be told twice. Squeezing through the entrance, I momentarily found myself in complete darkness as Tamlen's form blocked the outside light behind me. But my eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. Taking a step forward, I felt the ground slope steeply downwards, and decided to proceed cautiously. After about ten feet, however, it evened out again and we found ourselves in a spacious chamber.

"Well, what do you know? Maybe those worthless _shem_ were right after all…" muttered Tamlen as he moved towards one of the pillars supporting an archway that led deeper into the cave. "The craftsmanship is definitely elvish. Though I wonder what our ancestors were doing, building monuments underground. I thought that was a dwarven speciality…"

"Maybe at some point elves and dwarves lived together," I suggested, examining the broken bust of a female figure lying on the ground. Tamlen was correct – the craftsmanship was certainly elvish. The rock had been fashioned in such a way as to almost perfectly mimic the fold and flow of fabric, and every stand of hair had been painstakingly chiselled out in detail. Only an elf would have spent so much time creating something so beautifully perfect.

"Eugh… I can't imagine living with a dwarf. I hear they are smelly, brutish and short, and spend all their time drinking and swearing."

"Yet they somehow managed to create vast underground cities like Orzammar, despite their many short-comings…" I replied dryly, remembering Paivel's stories.

"Ha! Good one!" barked Tamlen in mirth, completely missing my point. "Hey, look at this! This carving looks like the one on the stone that _shem_ found."

"You're right!" I exclaimed, fishing the stone out of my pocket and holding it up next to the wall. "Maybe this place was some sort of temple?" I mused, studying the engravings surrounding the central motif. They depicted a beautiful, flowing rock tapestry of some sort of gathering of elves, humans, dwarves, as well as animals, forming a circle around an ethereal woman with stylised locks of flowing hair.

"This looks strangely familiar somehow…" muttered Tamlen to himself as he studied the central figure. "Like I've seen it before… Can't quite put my finger on it though… The Keeper would know. Maybe we should go back to camp and tell her what we've found."

"We haven't found anything yet," I countered. "We still have a whole cave to explore! Who knows how far these tunnels go?"

"That's exactly my point. This cave may be too large to search by ourselves. What if we get lost? No one knows where we are – they wouldn't be able to find us. I say we return to camp, and come back tomorrow with a bigger group to properly search the place. And that way, we would also have enough force to deal with anything that might be down here."

"So now you think the _shem_ were right about the demon as well?" I asked with mock disbelief.

"No," he scoffed, slightly offended. "But a big, dark cave is a prime nesting spot for all sorts of feral creatures, many of which are dangerous, poisonous and deadly. We are seriously unprepared for any sort of encounter with anything that is larger and more ferocious than a deer. We have no healing kits, no anti-venom, no torches, not even any food! We set out for a half-day hunting trip, not for an overnight exploration underground!"

"Okay, okay! I get your point. And I admit, it is getting quite late…"

"So she _does_ listen to reason!" cried Tamlen. "Thank the powers that be, for I had thought all was lost and…"

"…but I just want to go a little bit further in."

"What? Haven't you been listening to _anything_ I've been saying?" exclaimed Tamlen incredulously. "You are going to get yourself killed!"

"Yes, I very well might, if your continued shouting collapses the cavern," I pointed out tartly. "Just a little bit further, then I _promise_ that we can go home and recruit as many clansmen as you want to explore the rest of it," I reasoned sweetly. I even batted my eyelashes for good measure.

Tamlen heaved a world-weary sigh. "Fine… Though just so we're clear, I did not agree to this willingly…"

"Well, if you are too _scared_, you can stay just here and guard the entrance in case the fluffy dust motes decide to attack," I called over my shoulder as I moved deeper into the cave.

"Attractive as that might be, unfortunately I have more important things to guard against. Namely your irresponsibility, which one day is going to get us killed."

"Oh, stop being so fatalistic," I admonished. "There is nothing in this cave that's going to get us killed."

"Erm…you _might_ want to rethink that…"

"Why?"

"Remember that concern of mine about walking into a nest of giant spiders…?"

"Yeah…?"

"Look…up…"

Raising my eyes slowly towards the roof of the cave, I gasped in fear. Suspended above us were three gargantuan spiders. They were unusually still – either asleep, or waiting for prey. "I don't think they've noticed us yet," I whispered.

"We'll go back the way we came, _slowly_ and _quietly_," prompted Tamlen under his breath, already backing down the passageway.

"No," I hissed. "We've hardly gone two steps into this cave. I'm continuing on."

"Are you _crazy?_ What if there are more of these things?"

"Do you really want to be having this discussion with giant, venomous bugs dangling above our heads?"

Shaking his head resentfully, Tamlen crept after me down the corridor. Proceeding cautiously, and keeping a lookout for any more oversized creatures, we navigated the uneven tunnel. Rounding the bend, we encountered a grisly sight.

"Are those…dead bodies?" asked Tamlen with a sharp intake of breath.

"Sure smells like it," I replied, wrinkling my nose at the unmistakable stench of decomposing flesh.

"I vote we turn back. Whatever it was that killed these people may still be lurking around. Hey! Where are you going?"

I had loped into the hall, being pulled forward by some unseen force, coming to a halt in front of a familiar-looking figure. Though it was partially obscured by an unhealthy amount of dust and cobwebs, the statue seemed to have been otherwise untouched. The face of a beautiful maiden gazed down at me with a serene expression that was very much out of place in this dark cave. And even though I couldn't quite put my finger on how I knew her, the statue's presence filled me with a sense of peace and tranquillity.

"I remember now!" exclaimed Tamlen, coming to join me, his fear apparently forgotten. "This statute looks exactly like an engraving I saw in a book once. This is an Arlathan goddess. But…that would mean that this place is over a thousand years old! Is that really possible?"

"Arlathan?" I asked, intrigued. "You mean the ancient empire of elves, humans and dwarves?"

"Yes. Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these were created to honour the Creators. Though this looks like human architecture…depicting an elven goddess. I would never have guessed our ancestors would have lived in a place like this! With humans!"

"Things were different back then," I murmured softly, gazing up at the face of the goddess and wondering where had it all gone wrong.

"Yeah, well, times change," agreed Tamlen. "So now that we know that you were right, and there is definitely more to this cave that it first appeared, can we please leave now? It may just be the dead bodies and the huge spiders, but this place creeps me out."

"Yeah, alright," I agreed reluctantly, slugging after Tamlen. But as I looked back over my shoulder one last time, I noticed a fascinating detail. "She's pointing at something!"

"What? Who?"

"The statue! She's pointing into that dark recess."

"That cannot be a good sign…"

"Hey, look! There's a door! I wonder if…"

"I would not open that if I were you…" warned Tamlen.

"Oh, don't be such a ninny!" I muttered, shoving open the massive door with surprisingly little effort…and immediately wishing I hadn't. Inside lay a huge, viscous-looking…_thing_. And as the door crashed against the wall, it raised its shaggy head and snarled.

"Close it!" screamed Tamlen, backing away. "_Close the door!_"

But the beast was already charging towards us, its wickedly toothed maw slobbering in anticipation of the feast. I instinctively knew that if I tried to reach for the door handle, it would be last thing I ever did. So instead, I dived to the side, an arrow nocked in my bow as I came up in a crouch. The beast was almost upon a paralysed Tamlen when I released one, two, then three arrows into the monster's thick neck. The thing took a couple more faltering steps before collapsing to the ground next to my friend with a stifled groan.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Both of us merely stared at the prone form of the huge monster and marvelled at the fact that we were still somehow alive.

"Well, that was surprisingly easy," I chirped, trying to lighten the mood as I tucked my bow away with trembling hands.

Tamlen gaped at me uncomprehendingly, his eyes still wide with terror. Finally, my words seemed to register with him. "E-easy?" he rasped. "_Easy?_ That thing almost tore me to shreds!"

"But the point is that it didn't, thanks to m–"

"By the Creators, what _is_ that thing?" croaked Tamlen as he realised that he was still sitting next to the monster. He quickly skittered several feet away from the dead beast before getting shakily to his feet. "This is what must have killed those people."

"Looks like an oversized dire bear. Sporting porcupine needles," I said, inspecting the thing from afar. "Never seen anything like it before. Maybe we killed off an endangered species?"

"Will you stop joking around?" Tamlen cried. "We almost _died_ and even that didn't register with you? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were born…?"

"Hey!"

"…because you are _definitely_ not right in the head!"

"It was thanks to my addled head that both of us are even alive! So you should be thanking me instead of questioning my mother's parenting skills!"

Tamlen stared at me for a long moment, his breath coming in short gasps, before lowering his head apologetically. "You're right. I'm sorry… The shock must have really gotten to me. Thanks for saving my life, Feylin," he said with sincerity.

"You're welcome. And I guess I'm sorry for opening the door…"

"Yeah…no kidding!" he laughed, the situation righted once more. "Like I said, your impulsiveness is going to get us killed some day. And that day was almost today…"

"Wasn't it my _irresponsibility_ that is supposed to get us killed?" I asked innocently.

"That too," replied Tamlen with a wink.

"Hey, think of it this way – I make life interesting," I said, clapping him on the shoulder with a wide grin.

"A little bit _too_ interesting at times… Wait, what's that?"

"What?"

But Tamlen had already jogging into the room in which the porcupine-dire-bear had been hiding to come to a stand in front of an ornate, floor-length mirror. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed, eyes wide with wonder. "I wonder what the writing says…"

"Do not touch the glass…?" I offered dryly, attempting to steer him away. There was something malicious about the mirror and, for once, my curiosity was not going to get the better of me. "Like you said – maybe we should wait for the Keeper before we investigate further."

But Tamlen was completely consumed by the artefact: "…it's not even broken! How could that be, especially with that beast lumbering around? It's truly a miracle! I wonder what this writing is for…" he mused, almost dreamily, stretching his hand out again.

"Err…Tamlen, I don't think…"

"Hey! Did you see that?"

"See what…?" I asked suspiciously. Frankly, I was getting kind of unnerved by this mirror. And Tamlen's strange fascination with the thing was even more disturbing…

"Something moved inside!"

"_Inside_ the mirror? Are you sure you're not imagining things…? And weren't you the one who said…?"

"Hold on! I just want to take a closer look," he insisted, pulling his arm out of my grasp and moving closer to the mirror. I followed cautiously, my heart hammering in my chest. Something here was _very_ wrong… "There it is again! Did you see it, _lathelan_?" shouted Tamlen excitedly. "I think it knows we're here…"

"Are you even _listening_ to yourself?" I cried desperately, trying to pull my friend away from the mirror, but he merely batted me away like some pesky insect. "Tamlen, get away from it!"

"It's…_showing_ me places…" he breathed in awe, completely transfixed on the polished glass surface. Peering over his shoulder, all I saw were our reflections. "I can see…some kind of city!" continued Tamlen excitedly. "Underground…and there're a great…blackness…" He paused, and then gasped, "It saw me!"

"What saw you? _Tamlen!_" I screamed, sheer panic rising in my voice.

As if in answer, my friend's body suddenly became rigid. "Help! I can't look away!" he wailed as he was slowly pulled close and closer to the mirror, the surface of which had begun to froth and bubble unnaturally.

"Taml–!"

But in the next instant, my world exploded as a brilliant flash of pure energy erupted from the mirror and threw me across the room. I tried to keep my eyes open, to look for Tamlen, to find out what had happened, but all I saw was blinding whiteness…and then pitch black.


	2. Tainted

**Chapter 2 – Tainted**

"_There is no person so severely punished, as those who _

_subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse_." – Seneca

I managed to open my eyes on the third try….and immediately forced them shut again. I stifled a groan as my world spun relentlessly, making the bile rise in my throat and threatening to spill over. After a couple of moments of struggle, I felt slightly better, though my entire body was coated with sweat from the effort. Taking a few deep breaths, I slowly opened my eyes again, and this time I didn't feel like throwing up…as much.

I was in semi-darkness, so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. But as the world around me shifted into focus, and my senses began working again, I realised that something was wrong. For one, I was wrapped in something soft and warm, whereas the last thing I remembered was lying on a cold, stone floor. _Stone_… Why did I having a feeling that was important…? Oh, right! My memories were coming back now… Tamlen and I had been in a cave and there had been beautiful stone women and spiders and…and a _mirror!_

"By the Creators! Taml–!" I cried as I bolted upright, only drop back onto the furs again as the nausea hit me with full force. Groaning, I concentrated on fighting the queasiness and breathing through my mouth. When it finally passed, I turned my head slowly to the side, looking for Tamlen – or anyone else for that matter – who could provide me with some answers. But instead of people, I was greeted by the sight of a wooden bowl filled with water, and a pile of clean clothes. The wall of the hut, in which I was apparently in, was decorated with various hand-paintings depicting animals and plants, as well as lots of nonsensical symbols. It all seemed strangely familiar, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then I spotted a curious-looking staff decorated with feathers and shells, and it hit me – I was in the Keeper's hut! But…that meant that I was back at the camp… How was that possible?

This was not going to work, I realised. I needed to get up and find someone to explain to me how I had gotten from the middle of a cave back to camp, while apparently comatose. And where on earth was Tamlen? Maybe he was being cared for in a different hut? But there was so much room here… Was he seriously injured and needed to be isolated? Or was he not hurt at all and was waiting for me to get out of bed already and have a laugh about our silly misadventure?

With concentrated effort, I reached for the clothes, and wrestled them on with difficulty. I had to pause frequently to do battle with the queasiness, which, even though was lessening, was still prevalent. Finally dressed, I grabbed the bowl of water and guzzled it down, realising only now how parched my throat was. Feeling more refreshed and slightly more clear-headed, I got up gingerly and wobbled to the exit. Pulling back the tarp, I was nearly blinded by the fierce sunlight. But I refused to stay huddled inside any longer, and shielding my eyes with one hand, I took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Sure enough, I was back at camp, and everything seemed normal. That is, of course, until people began noticing me. I pasted a wide smile on my face, even though I was far from feeling cheerful. But instead of answering grins, I was greeted with worried glances as everyone shuffled quickly past me. A few of the younger elves gawked at me and pointed, whispering things behind their hands. Frowning in confusion, I looked around for somebody to interrogate. A couple of feet away, I spotted Fenarell, fletching arrows in front of a small fire. He was one of the hunters Tamlen and I had been initiated with, and was a good friend. So I marched up to him, fully intent on throttling answers out of him if I needed to.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed happily as he saw me approach. But his relieved grin quickly turned to a panicked look as he was forced to grab me as I stumbled. "Careful now, Fey. Are you sure you should be out and about? How are you feeling?"

"Apart from feeling like my head had been bashed open and wanting to throw my guts up every few minutes, I'm fantastic…" I muttered ruefully, extracting myself from his arms and lowering myself onto the log he was sitting on. "Do you have any idea how I got back to camp?"

"A _shem_ brought you back two days ago. H–"

"Two days?" I gasped. "I've been out of it for _two days?_"

"You're lucky to be alive," admitted Fanarell, laying a concerned hand on my arm. "You were delirious with fever and who knows what else. The Keeper exhausted herself trying to keep you alive. Even called on some of the Old Magic to try and save you. The _shem_ warned that there wasn't much hope for you, but thankfully, it seems he was wrong…"

"Guess I'm lucky to be alive then, huh?" I mumbled as the full weight of my situation hit me. "Wait… A _human_ brought me back? Tamlen and I chased some boys out of the woods… It couldn't have been one of them, could it?"

"He was a Grey Warden," Fanarell replied, with more than a tinge of awe in his voice. "He appeared at camp around sunset the day before yesterday with you slung over his shoulder. Said he had found you outside a cave, alone and unconscious."

"Alone? Was there no sign of Tamlen? Is there anyone looking for him? Where is this Grey Warden? I need to talk to him!" I cried desperately, already rising to my feet.

"Whoa, whoa, _lathelan_! Calm down!" chided Fanarell, pulling me back down. "Most of the hunters are out looking for Tamlen right now. Though there has been so sign of him so far… As for the Grey Warden, he left you in the care of the Keeper and then disappeared again. Quite a strange fellow, if you ask m–"

"I must go back and look for him!" I shouted, jumping to my feet and being saved from keeling over again by Fanarell's fast reflexes.

"Now you just sit here. And no sudden movements, alright? The Keeper wanted to be the first to know if you awoke. She has been anxious to talk to you about what happened and may be able to answer your questions better than I. I'll go get her now, in fact. Stay here."

Before I could say anything else, Fanarell was off, sprinting across the camp. I was left staring dejectedly into the flames and feeling utterly useless. And I couldn't help think that all of this was my fault. A dozen should-haves and should-nots buzzed around in my head…I shouldn't have opened that door…I should have listened to Tamlen when he had said to come back to camp…I shouldn't have been so eager to go gallivanting off with no thought to the safety of my friend…I should have…

"Good to see you are awake, _da'len_." The Keeper's tranquil voice interrupted my self-punishing. "It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did, though he warned us not to trust too much in your recovery. But it seems you have a strong will, which may have played a greater part in saving your life than any magic I was able to muster."

"What happened to me…?" I asked softly, not really sure if I wanted to know.

The Keeper sighed uneasily. "I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult for even my magic to keep you alive. Duncan, the Grey Warden, thought that there may have been darkspawn creatures inside the cave… If this is true, then the situation is graver than we thought."

"Darkspawn?" I asked, frowning. "You mean those monsters from the old legends? I thought they had been exterminated…" But even as I said the words, I knew them not to be true. Something in my blood had stirred at the mention of the horror that had terrorised the land all those centuries ago. It was an alien feeling that both repelled and fascinated me, and made me want to heave all over again.

"So did all of us," sighed the Keeper. "But Duncan fears they might have returned… I was hoping that to get more answers from you. The Grey Warden told me much, but not nearly enough, it would seem. Do you remember anything?"

"We were in a cave…with ancient ruins," I began, attempting to battle down the rising nausea. "Tamlen didn't want us to go, but some _shem_ found a stone with an engraving and I became curious. He warned that the cave might be dangerous, b-but I didn't listen to him! And now no one knows where he is!" I sobbed, the full effects of my illness, my worrying and all the new information that had just been heaped on me finally overwhelming me.

"Hush, _da'len_," soothed the Keeper, stroking my hair. "Tell me what happened… It may help us locate your friend."

"T-there was a mirror… T-Tamlen touched it… I told him not to, but…"

"A mirror? And it caused all this?" asked the Keeper, intrigued, but also very worried. "I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected…" She sighed wearily. "Oh, I was hoping for answers when you awoke, but all we have now is more questions… And Tamlen remains missing even after two days of searching. If he is as sick as you were, his condition is grave…"

"Where is this Grey Warden?" I interrupted. "I need to talk to him."

"Duncan returned to the cave in search of darkspawn," replied the Keeper. "But we cannot rely on him to look for our clansman as well. We must search for him ourselves."

"I will go," I declared, getting up from the log and managing to stay upright this time. This day was becoming stranger by the minute. I am brought back to camp by a _shem_ who is apparently a member of a mythical order that is still intact after almost half a millennia, after having nearly been killed by some nefarious mirror. Second, apparently darkspawn have returned and have taken up residence in this very forest. Third, my best friend has mysteriously disappeared and no one could find him.

But despite this bizarre turn of events, my purpose was clear: Tamlen was still back in that cave with who knows what else, and the reason no one has been able to find him was because they had no idea where the cave was. And it was because of my stupid curiosity that he was in there in the first place! I had to go find him – I owned him at least that much as a friend.

"Are you sure you are feeling well enough?" queried the Keeper. "After all, you were grievously ill and I am not sure…"

"I have to go," I insisted, pushing my queasiness away through sheer force of will. I had more important things to worry about than throwing up, godsdammit! "He is lost because of me and it is my responsibility to fix all this. Where are my weapons? I must leave, now. I have wasted enough time already…"

The Keeper peered at me for a long time. Finally she sighed and said, "Very well, _da'len_. I can see that your intention is set firm. Though I insist that you take Merrill with you. She will be useful to have on hand in case you encounter any more of…whatever it is that is down there. Search thoroughly, but do so swiftly! We cannot risk losing more clansmen to this…evil. In the meantime, I will order the clan to pack the camp so we can move north."

"I will need my bow. And my leathers. Did this Duncan bring those back as well?"

The Keeper lowered her eyes sadly. "I am sorry, Feylin. Your bow was broken when Duncan found you. But he brought the pieces back. They are in your hut, along with what's left of your leathers…"

I stared at her mutely. That bow had belonged to my father – it was the only object that I had to remember him by, and now it was destroyed. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill, I turned my back on the Keeper without another word. Ignoring the glances the rest of the clan cast my way, I marched to my hut with angry strides, my irritation growing with every step. That _thing_ that was in the mirror better be ready to get what's coming for it! It had ensnared my best friend, it had nearly killed me, and it had broken my father's bow… In short, it had made me seriously angry.

Barging into my hut, I stripped off the clothes I had been given and searched around for my leathers. Locating them on the low table in the centre of the room, I grabbed them, dislodging the parts of my bow in the process. The broken pieces clattered to the ground and lay there pathetically. Dropping to my knees, I gathered them up, fighting the growing sense of anguish that was threatening to eat me alive. This bow had been with me ever since my parents died, all those years ago, and was the only link I still had to my father. Laying the pieces gently back on the table, I gazed at them remorsefully. I knew that no bow I ever held again would be the same. It would always be missing that crucial sentimental element, filled with memory and grief, that was embodied by this bow. Angrily wiping away the tears from my eyes, I got up again and reached for my leathers. Even though all I wanted to do was sit in a dark corner with the remains of my cherished bow, I knew that I could not allow myself that luxury now. Tamlen's life was at stake and saving someone who was still alive was more important than grieving over someone who had died long ago.

Attempting to pull on my leathers, I was forced to confront the inconvenient fact they were completely shredded. Another lump formed in my throat, but I forced it down. Throwing the ruined thing into a corner, I fished around the clothes sack for my spare set, forcing myself to concentrate on my mission ahead. I found them buried at the bottom of the bag and managed to pull them out with some difficulty. I grimaced when I saw them. They had never been worn, and the leather was tough and bent from lying forgotten for many years. But it was what I had, and it would adjust to my body after a couple uncomfortable weeks of sustained wear. After a prolonged fight with the stiff straps and strings, I had managed to squeeze into them. It pressed and cut into me in all the wrong places, but I had no time to be choosy. My friend's life hung in balance, and the faster I found him, the greater chance we had of saving his life.

Since my bow was broken, I would be forced to rely on the swords I had inherited from my grandfather. My mother, had she still been alive, would have prevent me from taking those blades, but time was of the essence and I did not have time to search for other weapons. Swords were not my primary choice of weapon, since most Dalish relied on ranged weapons, but unfortunately I did not have a spare bow. I would have to make myself a new one, when I got back, I realised. But there will be time enough to think about that later. Locating the aged chest made of sandalwood, decorated with delicately carved woodland motifs in the dusty corner of a small trunk, I opened the creaky lid.

The polished length of two curved blades showed me my reflection, making me gasp. My auburn, shoulder length hair was a veritable disaster. It somehow managed to hang limply around my ashen face while sticking up in all directions. My usually slightly ruddy cheeks were pale and sunken, with large purple shadows ringing my eyes almond-shaped amber eyes. There was also a large and angry-looking bruise colouring the left side of my forehead. No wonder everyone had been looking at me so strangely! I looked like death warmed up…

But I had no time to worry about that now. Grabbing the blades, along with their matching scabbards and holster, I slammed the beautiful chest shut and threw it back in the trunk. Fastening the holster so it hung securely on my back, I took a blade in each hand. The leather of the hilt was held in place by silver wire, and it fit snugly into the palm of my hand. Of this I was glad, since I had never had a chance to practice with these blades. My mother had forbidden it, because she considered them more of a family heirloom than anything else, though she had unfailingly cleaned and oiled them once a year, on the day of my grandfather's passing. She said it helped keep his memory alive and for her to feel close to him again. At first I had not understood what she had meant, but with the passing of my own parents, I had come to cherish my father's bow the same way my mother had treasured her father's swords. But where she had kept the memory locked away in a box, I had kept mine constantly by my side.

Until now, that is…

Growling in irritation, I made a couple of cuts through the air, trying to remember the basics of the martial training I had had before I secured the bow as my weapon of choice. The metal hummed as it whizzed through the air, singing a deathly melody that perfectly echoed my mood. There was power in these blades, and I felt the raw energy course up my arms as I slashed and stabbed. Maybe some sort of enchantment? I would try and find out later. Sheathing the blades, I knew that my grandfather's cherished weapons and I will get along just fine.

Checking myself over and tightening a couple of straps on my leathers here and there, I rushed out the door, nearly colliding with Merrill, the Keeper's apprentice.

"Oh, sorry! I was about to knock, but I guess you beat me to it," she smiled whimsically. "The Keeper asked me to accompany you back to those caves."

"I appreciate the sentiment. But if you are too slow to keep up, I will not wait for you," I replied tersely as I set off at jog towards the forest. I had never really liked Merrill, not that I knew her very well. But there was something about her floaty manner and soft voice that I found irritating.

She blinked at my curtness, but fell into pace beside me. "I understand that Tamlen was a dear friend to you. I promise that I will do my utmost to aid you in your search, and to fight, if necessary."

"You know how to fight?" I asked sceptically. "I thought all you apprentices did all day was recite ancient lore at each other. Plus, are you sure you would be a match for the forces of darkness?"

"I may not look like much of a fighter, it is true," conceded Merrill, who, with her slim build and big doe eyes, looked like she was more likely to faint at the first sign of trouble than to stand her ground. "But a key element of my apprenticeship has been the leaning of spells for use in a confrontation, and I do know a thing or two about the healing arts. So if you wish to take the brunt of any attacks that may come our way, you can rest secure in the knowledge that I will be able to patch you up."

"Thanks, Merrill," I replied, hoping I sounded sincere. "And sorry about my attitude before. I'm just really worried about Tamlen." I figured that if I was going to trust this girl with my life, then I better start being nice to her…

"I understand. No offence has been tak– Watch out!" she cried suddenly.

Before I even knew what was happening, Merrill had unleashed a protective shield of energy in front of us, preventing several wicked looking arrows from skewering us on the spot. I nodded appreciatively at my companion, realising that I had seriously underestimated her. Deciding that it was my turn to contribute and put my new weapons to the test, I unsheathed my grandfather's blades and sprang forward as three burly humanoids crashed out of the bushes. One of them was instantly taken out by a blast of fiery magic coming from Merrill, and was sent sprawling in the dirt with a thud. The other two converged on me, brandishing fearsome looking axes. I ducked one clumsy swing easily, but nearly left an arm behind when the second axe came zipping down. Diving to the side, I came up on my knees just in time to parry another attack, the force of which made my teeth rattle. Without really intending it to, the blade in my left hand suddenly shot forward and pierced my opponent's hide armour with ease, coming to rest in his beating heart. The man (though he didn't really look like one) gaped at me uncomprehendingly before topping backwards with a gurgling sigh.

I stared at the dead body in front of me with a mixture of shock and awe, only vaguely aware of the fact that the fight was over. One thought dominated my consciousnesses – I had just killed someone. Even though its features were twisted in such a way as to erase almost any sense of humanity, it had still been a living, breathing being just a few seconds ago…and I had ended its life. The fact that I had done so in self-defence could in no way lessen the shock. And, for another, one of my blades seemed to have acted on its own accord, which, in a way, was even more unnerving than the corpse lying at my feet. Maybe my mother had had very good reasons for keeping these weapons locked away…

"Feylin? Are you alright?" inquired Merrill, laying a hand on my shoulder, causing me jump with fright. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you… But you have been staring at that body for a while now, and we should probably get moving…"

"I…really…?" Okay, now I was seriously disturbed. The fact that I could not string two words together into a coherent sentence was a sure sign that something was wrong with me.

"What were those things? Were they darkspawn?" asked Merrill, staring at the corpses with a mixture of horror and disgust on her face. "You can smell the evil on them…"

"I don't know about that, but they weren't here last time," I responded, somehow managing not to slur any of the words. Why was my vision spinning again? Shaking my head in an attempt to clear my mind, I mumbled something about the need to get moving again as I set off down the path with unsteady steps.

"Are you certain, Feylin? I mean, you do not look like you are feeling very well. In fact, you are deathly pale and appear to be feverish. And what if there are more of these creatures about? Maybe you can describe to me the location of this cave and I can…"

"No!" I rebuked, the weight of my responsibilities coming back in full force and knocking sense into me again. "I cannot abandon Tamlen! I have to do this."

Merrill gave me a long, concerned look before nodding. "Very well. Lead the way."

We continued towards the cave at a more cautious pace. I told myself that it was because I was on the lookout for any more of those things that attacked us. But while I tried to pretend that everything was fine, the going was difficult… The world around me threatened to pitch off its axis at any minute, and it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. My throat was parched and my stomach ached, reminding me that all I had consumed in three days was a single bowl of water. To make matters worse, my companion was watching me like a hawk, prepared to jump to my aid if I so much as sneezed.

_Maybe Merrill was right_, I thought weakly, fighting to keep my eyes open. _Maybe I really am not well enough to continue_… The adrenaline-fuelled vigour instilled in me by the knowledge that Tamlen was in trouble had sustained me until now, but the impromptu battle with those creatures had drained the last reserves of my strength. And if we had to face any more of them, I was not certain that I would be able to put up a fight.

"I wonder whose campfire this is…" mused Merrill as we rounded the bend and came upon a pile of charred wood. "Do you remember it being here?"

_Why was she asking so many questions?_ I thought irately to myself, trying to keep my head from splitting asunder. "No, it wasn't here before," I bit out, clutching my temples.

"The Grey Warden said he would be returning to the cave. Maybe this is his camp," the apprentice mused, kneeling down for a closer look. "But if so, he is not here now. And we've seen no signs of Tamlen. Maybe we should… Wait. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" I grumbled, my patience and my pain-threshold on the verge of snapping.

"Exactly! There are no sounds of forest creatures…It's too _still_. Something is in the air…something unnatural. It seems that whatever you woke up inside that cave has spread outside. The sooner we find this cave, and Tamlen, the sooner we can leave."

"Finally…" I muttered under my breath, turning back onto the path. We walked the rest of the way in silence, Merrill apparently absorbed in a world that was beyond my skills of observation. Not that I was paying much attention to anything besides putting one foot in front of the other and trying to maintain a straight course.

"Is this the cave?" came Merrill's voice from seemingly miles away. Raising my head, I found that we had arrived at the clearing. I just managed to make out the tell-tale crack in the rock face despite the blurriness.

"Yeah… Follow…me…" I croaked as I virtually fell into the cave. Steadying myself against the cool wall, I took a few deep breathes, trying to stop the queasiness from rising again. Suddenly, I was suffused with a warm, joyous feeling as a wave of bliss spread through my body. Opening my eyes, I was relieved to find that the world had stopped spinning and the nausea had passed. Merrill was wearing a knowing smile.

"Did you just use magic on me?" I asked, my voice stronger now.

"Yes. I could not bear to see you suffer so. How do you feel?"

"Much better. Thanks," I replied, laying an appreciative hand on the apprentice's shoulder. I was still not feeling completely well, but was no longer in danger from collapsing in a heap. I decided that I was glad Merrill was with me. Had I set out on my own, I would probably lying in a ditch by the side the of road by now.

"You are welcome. So where is this room that you and Tamlen found the mirror in?"

"Just down here," I said, walking down the incline leading into the first chamber with steadier legs. I proceeded as cautiously and quietly as I could, not wanting to alert the spiders and anything else that was down here of our presence. I chuckled humourlessly to myself. Had I been as wary the first time around, we probably would not even be in this mess. And I wouldn't have become infected with whatever was sucking away all my strength… Which was starting to worry me. I could literally count the number of times I had been sick on the fingers of one hand, and my parents, when they had been alive, had always remarked on my remarkable constitution. And while it had been impressed upon me that I had very nearly died, shouldn't all that magic that had been pumped into me eradicated the last traces of whatever it was that was still effecting me?

"So these are the ruins?" asked Merrill in wonder as we came upon the statue of the Arlathan goddess, still staring serenely at nothing in particular. "This is definitely of human origin," she continued, moving up to examine the figure and the surrounding wall art in more detail. "Yet there are elven artefacts scattered amongst them. See this rock carving behind the statue? Our ancestors used motifs like this…"

"Could we maybe examine the crumbling architecture _after_ we found Tamlen?" I interjected. My initial awe at this place was now merely a dim memory, obscured by worry and doubt. I just wanted to find Tamlen and get out of this place.

"Yes, of course," replied Merrill hastily, looking slightly sheepish. "Your friend is our primary responsibility, after all. Though I would love to come back here and examine these ruins in more detail. They may hold vital clues to our heritage. Even from a cursory examination, I think it is safe to say that you have stumbled upon a find that could rewrite our history."

"That significant, huh?" I mused without much enthusiasm as we moved towards the room with the mirror. The door stood ajar and inside I could see a tall man dressed in armour of an unfamiliar style, standing in front of the accursed mirror. Sensing us approach, he slowly turned around. His deep-set grey eyes widened in surprise when he saw me.

"You're the elf I found while wandering the forest." It was more of a statement than a question. "I'm surprised you have recovered." His burrows furrowed, deepening the lines that etched his face. He appeared to be neither old or young, yet there was something about his stance and voice that indicated that he was a man who had seen a lot and was rarely surprised.

"So you're Duncan, the Grey Warden who saved me. I'm Feylin. I guess I owe you my life," I replied, deigning him with the elvish bow of respect. This man was of a completely different cut than the villagers Tamlen and I met in the woods, and since he had saved my life, I figured I should be polite.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," he responded, bowing his head. "Do not feel that you owe me anything in exchange, though. The fact that you are alive is compensation enough for me, miraculous as it may be."

"Good thing I didn't cheat you by dying then," I replied, my silvery tongue making an appearance.

Merrill chose this moment to step forward and introduce herself. No doubt she thought that my comment had been way out of line. But I was pleased to see that the Grey Warden looked mildly amused by my remark. "_Andaren atish'an_, Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I am Merrill, the Keeper's apprentice."

"Your Keeper did not send you after me, did she?" asked Duncan, looking suddenly concerned. "I told her I would be in no danger." Yes! Finally a kindred soul who felt the same way about adventuring as I did! I liked Duncan already…

"We're looking for Tamlen, one of our brothers," explained Merrill.

"So you and your friend both entered this cave?" asked Duncan, focusing on me intently. "And you saw this mirror?"

"Yes… Tamlen was strangely drawn to it. I told him not to touch it, but…"

"I see…" replied Duncan forlornly. "That is…unfortunate."

"Why?" I asked, a lump already forming in my throat.

"The Grey Wardens have seen artefacts like this before. The mirror is Tevintan in origin, used for communication. Over time, some of them…break. They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Your friend's touch must have released it. It's what made you sick. And your friend too, I presume."

"Can it be repaired?" asked Merrill, casting her eyes towards the mirror with interest.

"Unfortunately, no. It will taint whoever comes near it."

"I do not fear this sickness," replied Merrill adamantly. "The Keeper was able to cure Feylin, after all."

Duncan was shaking his head even before Merill had finished speaking. "She may have been able to weaken it, but she does not know how to cure it. I do not doubt your Keeper's powers, but there are dark forces at play here that not even her magic can overcome. Your recovery," he continued, turning to me, "is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading."

"Does this mean I will turn into a darkspawn?" I asked, my voice coming out as a squeak.

"Eventually, yes," came the impassive response. I gulped. "But there may yet be time to cure you."

"But I though you said that this illness was incurable…"

"I never said that. Only that your Keeper does not have the power to cure you. But we can discuss this back at your camp. First, however, we must deal with this mirror. It is a pestilence and a threat. We cannot allow anyone else to succumb to its taint."

Drawing his sword, Duncan moved towards the mirror. Whatever was inside must have sensed his intent for the glass began to glow and swirl in an angry shade of crimson. Some kind of whispering seemed to fill the air, and I could feel whatever it was that was tainting my blood awaken in response. It felt as if it was reaching out to the mirror, drawing me closer, seeking reunion. I took a shaky step forward…

"Feylin!" Merrill's voice cried from beyond the roar of my blood in my ears as I continued to move towards the mirror. I was vaguely aware of the fact that my swords had appeared in my hands, as if by magic, and their deadly tips were pointed at the Grey Warden's exposed back.

_Kill the infidel_, a dark voice prompted. _It seeks to destroy our mirror. Kill him!_

I was powerless to disobey, even though a tiny part of my mind screamed in protest. _This man had saved my life! You are not yourself! Do not listen to the voice!_ But it seemed the harder I fought, the stronger the pull of the nameless _thing_ inside me became. It coaxed me on with honeyed tones that chilled my soul and sucked away at my resistance, feeding off it like a leech. I felt myself growing weaker and weaker even as my steps became surer and surer.

The Warden was in front of the mirror now, raising his sword, completely oblivious to my approach. I raised my own weapons, but was grabbed from behind by an offending hand. Turning around with a snarl, I swatted the feeble creature away like an irksome fly and turned my attention back to my target.

But that moment of distraction had been enough. The Grey Warden's sword had come crashing down on the surface of the mirror. The glass shattered into a million pieces and my scream mingled with the ear-splitting screech of the mirror as the darkness inside it ceased to exist. A blinding flash of light filled the room, burning me, burning the thing in me, and I felt myself falling, falling…

When I opened my eyes again, I was greeted by two concerned faces.

"Oh, thank the Creators!" cried Merrill in relief, throwing her arms around me. I could see Duncan was less impressed. He regarded me with a gaze that was anything but relieved. In fact, he looked seriously unnerved.

"W-what happened?" I asked hoarsely, trying to sit up.

"The taint in you is stronger than I suspected. We must leave at once."

"But what about Tamlen?" I protested, getting shakily to my feet. The thing inside me was dormant for the moment, but I could feel its presence, ready to pounce at the smallest opportunity. I ignored it, concentrating on more important things. "I did not come all this way to..."

"I am afraid your friend is beyond our aid. If he was not killed by force in the mirror, then the taint would have surely consumed him by now. Whatever was in that mirror was more powerful than anything I have come across. Your friend stood no chance…"

"No! I refuse to believe that!" I cried, hot tears springing to my eyes. "I _will_ find him!"

"Feylin." The unspoken command in Duncan's gravely voice forced me to turn around and look at him. "Think about how sick you were," he continued gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I can feel the taint within you, feeding on you, making you weak. I know you can feel it too. But you survived because you received aid in time. Your friend was not so fortunate. Now if you care for Tamlen as much as I know you do, you will not pursue him. It is better for everyone this way."

Heaving a massive sob, I managed to force out a nod, though I hated myself for it. Letting Merrill steer me towards the exit, I gazed back at the pieces of the broken mirror and knew that if I survived this, I would never be able to forgive myself. That I should live, at the expense of Tamlen, was an irony of fate too cruel to bear. I had brought this upon the two of us – I should be the one beyond hope! I should be punished for all this!

But as I emerged into the light of the afternoon sun, I realised that living with the consequence of my actions was a far greater punishment than dying. The living were the ones who had to carry the weight of the knowledge of what they had done, whereas the dead had no such burdens to bear. The living were the ones who had to remember, the ones who had to come to terms with what they had done. No, the living were punished; the dead were free…


	3. Dancing Shadows

**Chapter 3 – Dancing Shadows**

"_When owls call the breathless moon_

_In the blue veil of the night_

_The shadows of the trees appear_

_Amidst the lantern light"_

- _The Mummers' Dance_ by Loreena McKennit

I collapsed onto my mattress. Rolling with some difficultly onto my back, I stared at the ceiling of my _aravel_ without really seeing it. The journey back to camp had been sheer torture. Not only had I had to deal with the illness that was apparently spreading through me – the _taint_, as Duncan referred to it – but now I also had to contend with the loss of Tamlen. Not to mention the fact that we had unknowingly unleashed some kind of nameless evil into the world by activating that bloody mirror.

Emerging from underground, we had found the entire forest crawling with the same creatures Merrill and I had encountered on our way to the cave. Duncan told us that they were truly darkspawn, tainted creatures that spread disease and death wherever they went, and proceeded to ruthlessly exterminate every single one he laid eyes upon. During the first ambush, I had been eager to join the fray, needing to extract revenge on the evil creatures for taking Tamlen away from me and for nearly killing me as well. But I hadn't so much as taken two steps before I dropped to the ground, unconscious. After I came to, Merrill told me that in I had suffered profound physical and mental shock to my system in the past couple of days and my body could not handle it anymore. Even if that was partially true, both Duncan and I knew that the real reason for my condition was the _thing_ that was feeding off of me from the inside. I had been too weak to stand and, despite my protests, Duncan had carried me back to the clan after he had cleared a path for us.

We arrived back at camp to witness a hive of activity as _aravels_ were being dismantled and piled onto carts or into trunks and bags. The Keeper had broken off her supervision of the controlled chaos to interrogate us. She had then retired with Duncan to 'confer in private'. Whatever that meant… I, for one, didn't care, and was glad that I was released from further obligations so I could find a nice corner in which to die. I had somehow made it to my hut and without even thinking to change out of my dusty and bloody leathers, had let myself succumb to exhaustion…

I must have fallen asleep (or passed out), for seemingly in the next instant, I was being shaken awake by Merrill. Opening my eyes, I was relieved to find that I was no longer feeling like I had been run over by a pack of wild boars and that nausea was not imminent. I was still completely exhausted, and could probably sleep for a week, but I was feeling better. Maybe all I had needed was a good sleep?

That little flight of fancy was quickly replaced by the growing sense of dread that reared its head as I felt the _thing_ inside me stir. Its presence was unmistakable and to say that it frightened me did not do justice to how it made me feel. It was like a hole of quicksand, slowly sucking in what was left of me, and the more I struggled, the faster I sank. Even now, I could feel it feeding off what little strength I had just regained. I felt powerless.

"The Keeper will see you now, Feylin," the apprentice murmured gently. I saw sadness and worry in her eyes before she looked quickly away and hurried outside again. I dragged myself slowly out of bed and hobbled to the entrance. Merrill grimaced slightly at my appearance, but made no comment about it as she held the tarp covering my _aravel_ open for me. Looking down at myself, I pulled a face as well. I was still dressed in my leathers, which were dusty and blood-splattered. I could also see dark stains from all the perspiring I have been doing lately, no doubt also the cause of the headache I could feel coming on from dehydration and hunger. I was dying for a bowl of cool spring water and a massive haunch of roast deer, but, apparently such personal concerns were not on the agenda for the foreseeable future. Merrill was casting impatient glances at me, willing me to get a move on already, so I grudgingly obliged her, even though seeing the Keeper right now was the last thing I wanted to be doing.

Stepping outside, I could see that it was twilight already, and that the camp no longer existed. All the _aravels_, except mine and the Keeper's, had been dismantled. Carts piled high with personal belongings stood waiting at the edge of the firelight. Torches attached to long poles had been set into the ground to give light to those who were still packing up their belongings, and about a dozen campfires blazed. Families were scattered around them, preparing their evening meals, but there was stilted silence. There was no laughter, no hubbub of conversation. Those who were talking, did so in low whispers, but mostly, the clan went about their business in silence. And as I shuffled past the quashed grass circles indicating the places where huts had previously stood, a sense of foreboding began to grow in the pit of my stomach. For some reason, I could not shake the feeling of a strange finality, that a chapter of my life had come to an end. Maybe it was because I lost Tamlen, I though to myself as we arrived at the Keeper's hut. Merrill pulled the tarp aside for me with a sad smile. But before I could ask about it, she let the tarp fall closed and was gone.

"Good evening, _da'len_," greeted the Keeper. "Please, join us." If she noticed how much of a wreck I was, she was doing well to hide it, pretending, instead that everything was perfectly normal. She gestured at one of the woven rush mats she and the Grey Warden were sitting on. I eased myself down and waited. Some sort of silent communication seemed to pass between the two, after which Duncan nodded and spoke.

"Your Keeper and I have come to an arrangement that concerns you. My order is in need of help and you are in need of a cure," he began. "I hope you will join me when I depart for Ostagar at dawn."

"Erm…okay?" I had no idea where this was going and I was in no mood for cryptic conversation.

"You are to become a Grey Warden, _da'len_," explained the Keeper. This made me sit up straighter.

"A Grey Warden? But what does this have to do with my cure?"

"The darkspawn taint courses through your veins," reiterated Duncan. "That you recovered at all is remarkable. But the taint is strong and it will spread, eventually killing you. Or worse… The Grey Wardens have a cure, but in order to receive it, you need to become one."

"I see…" I replied guardedly. "Will I be able to return afterwards?"

"This offer is not simply charity on my part," came the stilted response. "I would not propose this solution if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. And if my judge of your character is correct, then it may be very likely that you will never return. If the cure is a success, you, as a member of our Order, will join us to fight the darkspawn."

"I must have made an excellent first impression then," I muttered, massaging my eyes.

I heard the Keeper sigh. "This is an unexpected turn of events, _da'len_. If there was any other alternative, I would be the first to propose it. But sadly, I do not see one, and I cannot watch you suffer any longer. Do not think I have not noticed the condition you are in…what this _taint_ is going to you. The Grey Warden offers a way for you to survive…a way to cleanse this sickness out of you. I have thought long and hard about Duncan's offer and even though it was a difficult decision to make, I have been forced to accept that this is the only way."

I was not sure how I was supposed to feel about this whole thing. In exchange for my life, I would be required to serve an order, fighting darkspawn, most likely until the death. Did I really want that? I had never ventured beyond the borders of Brecilian Forest. Who knew what awaited me in the wider world? True, I was curious by nature and would have probably ended up exploring the world at some point…but that would have been on my own terms. But if I did not go with Duncan now, I would end up dead…or worse. That I was stuck between a rock and a hard place was an understatement of the predicament that I was in… Either die, or become a Grey Warden in order toe be cured, only to probably die prematurely anyway.

"I can see you are troubled, Feylin." I snapped my head up. This was the first time I have ever heard the Keeper call my by my given name. "I do not know if what I am about to tell you will make your choice any easier, but you should know it nonetheless. To become a Grey Warden is your duty, and your salvation. A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south – a new Blight threatens the land. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against the Blight, should that day arrive. That time is now, and we must honour that agreement. Know that it breaks my heart to send you away. But it would break my heart even more to watch you suffer a slow and painful death. I hope you can see the necessity of this course of action."

"What do you say, Feylin?" asked Duncan. "Will you join us?"

"Looks like I have no choice..." I sighed grudgingly. "Unless I plan to become an mindless minion of evil." I laugh without humour. No one else did.

"It is settled then," declared Duncan with a fateful note of finality. Rising from the mat, he proclaimed, "Welcome to the Order of the Grey Wardens, Feylin Mahariel. May your actions guide us all." Snapping a closed fist to his heart, he bowed solemnly.

"That's it? I'm a Grey Warden? No fancy initiation ceremony? No trial of wits and strength?" I was seriously expecting more than this… I mean, I _was_ joining a legendary order in exchange for my life. Surely some pompous, honorary right of passage was to be expected?

Duncan chuckled. "We do have an initiation ceremony, but you will learn more about it once we reach Ostagar. But I will say now that the Order is glad to have you. We do not have many Dalish in our ranks, but throughout our history they have always served with distinction. I have no doubt you will follow in that long line of excellence."

"No pressure right?" I quipped, managing a small smile.

"I know you will do your clan proud, _da'len_," proclaimed the Keeper with a meaningful look, but I could see the pride glowing in her grey eyes. "Take this ring. It is a symbol of your heritage and it will protect you from the darkness to come."

"Thank you, Keeper," I replied, accepting the gift. It was a plain silver band and looked nondescript (if a bit worn) from the outside. But on the inside ran a flowing script so beautiful that at first I had thought that it was some sort of stylised etching.

"This ring has been in our clan since the fall of Elvhenan. It has been passed down, generation after generation, from Keeper to Keeper. And now I give it to you. The inscription reads, 'We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit'. Wear it with pride and as a reminder of your roots."

"A mighty gift," agreed Duncan. He paused before saying, "I understand that you have some loose ends to tie up before our journey. I will leave you to make your preparations and say your farewells. Meet me at the edge of camp tomorrow. We depart at first light." Gracing us with a small bow, he left the _aravel_ and disappeared into the night.

I sank back onto the mat, feeling exhausted once more. My head was reeling, not from the taint, thirst or hunger, but from the sudden change of course my life had been forced to take. I had just agreed to become a Grey Warden, to leave my home – and everything I knew – behind… Perhaps for ever. Had I known that this would be the consequence of a seemingly harmless adventure, I would have never even gotten out of bed when Tamlen suggested we go hunting together.

"What troubles you, _da'len_?" asked the Keeper, bringing me a bowl of steaming tea. The herbal scent wafted over me, making my stomach growl. "Would you like something to eat as well?"

I nodded, still lost in my thoughts. The Keeper returned with a platter of fruit, and I began pecking at it mindlessly. It tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced myself to swallow, knowing that I needed the sustenance. After a long time, I asked, "What did he mean by tying up loose ends?"

"Despite the fact that you were unable to locate Tamlen, I have decided that a service should be held for him nonetheless. The ceremony would also be a chance to symbolically sever our ties with this campsite."

"And with me…" I added glumly, sipping my tea.

"Fire is the element of cleansing and transformation," replied the Keeper mystically. "In order to make way for the new, the old must sometimes be destroyed. You begin a new life today, one that will hopefully be of benefit to us all. But in order to look into the future, you must let go of the past."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I was not quite sure what the Keeper was on about, but her words had resonated with a chord deep inside me.

"Only you can know that. Listen to your soul – it is the keeper of greater wisdom than the collective knowledge of all the sages of the world. Come. It is time…"

Gulping down the rest of my tea (and burning the back of my throat in the process), I clambered to my feet and followed the Keeper outside. I was started to realise the lateness of the hour. But instead of heading towards what was left of the camp, the Keeper turned left and led me into the forest. I wondered where we were going, but something prevented me from asking. I would find out soon enough. The night was pitch black, on account of the fact that it was the night of the new moon, making the going difficult.

The scent of burning wood assaulted my nostrils before I noticed the tale flickering of a fire. Pushing aside the spiky branches of a large bush, we entered a small clearing with the massive pyre blazing in the centre. I could see the entire clan gathered around, forming a circle around the fire. Their faces were sombre and slightly sinister looking, their skin having been painted with ceremonial designs. A couple of them held musical instruments. All their eyes were focused on me, making me feel slightly uncomfortable, which was compounded by the fact that no sound could be heard apart from the crackle of the flames. Even the wild cacophony of the night was absent.

Merrill appeared in front of me, holding a bowl of paint. The sticky tang of lard mixed with ash hit me, making me wrinkle my nose. The apprentice dipped her fingers into the mixture and proceeded to smear my face with the stuff. She then grabbed my arm and led me to an opening in the circle before taking her place beside the Keeper and Paivel.

"Dalish of the Oak Clan!" cried the Keeper, thrusting her staff into the air and stepping forward. Silhouetted against the light of the fire the fire, the old elf seemed to grow in size. Her voice boomed across the clearing. "Tonight is a night of the rising dark. The Shadow of the past has awakened once again and the legacy of Elvhenan may be threatened anew. A new Blight is upon us – in fact, it is already here. It has taken one of our beloved brothers from us. It has attempted to take one of our sisters. The forest has grown quiet and fear builds in our hearts as its dark taint spreads across the land. The moon has become veiled and we do not know what the future holds.

"Tonight is a night of departure. Our relocation in the face of the spreading taint is merely the beginning of the changes we must now come to accept. We must bid farewell to the spirit of our brother Tamlen, who has cruelly been taken from us. His body is lost, but the fires of his memory burn nonetheless. In this way we honour his memory and call on the Creator to guide him to the Beyond. But even while we mourn the loss of one clansman, and struggle to accept his passing, we must bid farewell to another. Our tainted sister is to journey into the land of the _shemlen_ in the hope of a cure, for in exchange for her life, she must leave her clan behind. But even in the face of the rising Shadow, hope remains. We may grown uncertain in the dark, but we rest assured in the knowledge that the sun will rise again. The Dalish have endured uncertain times before, and we will endure many more in the coming days. And what at times may seem like the end, is often many times the beginning."

The Keeper lowered her staff abruptly moved back into the circle. It was now Paivel who stepped forward. He expression was grave, and his voice shook as he spoke. "It is the will of the Creators that I sign the _deurge_ for those who are no longer with us. But it is truly a dark night when I have to do so for those who I held in my arms as babes. Let us hope that no more of our number falls prey to this evil." The old storyteller paused, bowing his head in grief, and my heart went out to him. Raising his eyes again, he recited with a heavy heart,

"_Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky,_

_Hasting to place one last kiss upon your eye,_

_Tenderly lands and folds you in slumber,_

_Softening the rolling thunder._

_Dagger now sheathed, bow, no longer tense,_

_During this, your final hour, only silence_."

"Farewell, Tamlen," I whispered under my breath as tears welled in my eyes. _I hope you will forgive me…_

Paivel returned to his place in the circle and silence descended on the gathering once more as each of us prayed for the safe journey of Tamlen's soul. I wondered whether he really was dead, or whether he had become a darkspawn as Duncan feared. Would his soul still find his way back to the Creators? Or did the fact that he had become tainted bar him from finding peace?

The Keeper stepped forward again with Merrill, each of them bearing a large bowl of liquid. Moving in opposite directions, they held the drink up for each clansmen to take a sip. Reaching me, the Keeper presented the bowl and I looked at it dubiously. Inside swirled a blood-red concoction swerved exclusively at memorial services. I remembered drinking it at my parents' funeral and hating it. But to refuse it would be an act of grievous disrespect to the dead, so wrinkling my nose at the pungent odour, I look a gulp and forced myself to swallow. The burning liquid slid down my throat with agonising slowness and I felt myself become heady with its immediate effects.

By this time, the Keeper and her apprentice had completed their round. As they returned once more to their places in the circle, the eerie sound of a bone flute pierced the air, breaking the silence. Its shrill notes snaked around the clearing, bringing in their wake a profound change in atmosphere. The haunting melody rose and fell, tugging at my heartstrings and making me shiver. The very air became charged with an otherworldly quality, as if the spirits of the Beyond had descended among us. The steady beat of a drum joined in, followed by the jittery shaking of a shell rattle. A wailing chant rose onto the night, giving voice to the grief that threatened to constrict my heart.

Looking around, I could see most of the clan swaying to the music. Some were stomping their feet, others were clapping their hands, while others still were humming under their breath. I could feel my body begin to move to the intoxicating rhythms as well, and would not have been able to stop myself even if I had wanted to. As my movements became more and more erratic, I was vaguely aware of a bright green explosion within the funeral pyre. As I wondered what it could have been, a sticky-sweet smell filled the air and I coughed as the smoke wafted over me. Opening my eyes, I was surprised to see that the world had grown bright and otherworldly. The colours intensified a thousand-fold and shadows rose from the darkness to jump and dance among us. But strangely, I was not afraid. In fact, I had never felt more at home. The steady beat of a distant drum coursed through my veins, making my blood sing. A passing shadow grabbed my hand, it's formless face grinning wickedly, pulling me towards the fire.

_Jump in_, it prompted, though I heard no voice speak. _Jump in and you will be free._

I stared at the fire, mesmerised. The flames swayed and rippled, tempting me like cool water on a hot summer's day. Sparks exploded, landing on my skin, but I felt no pain. Extending my hand towards the inferno, I moved closer. Shadowy voices whispered encouragingly. But just as I was about to take the last step, I was grabbed from behind. The shadows screamed, and their sharp talons fought to free me from the grasp of my assailant. I struggled viciously, but the grip that held me only tightened. It drew me away from the fire, which exploded with a blinding flash of white light, leaving me in darkness.


	4. Lessons from the Past

**Chapter 4 – Lessons from the Past **

"_The world is round, and the place which may seem like the end_

_may also be the beginning_." – Ivy Baker Priest

I was jarred awake by the most unusual sensation. I felt like I was sitting on the top of a rock slide, tumbling endlessly towards some unknown destination, but somehow still managing to stay upright. Cracking my eyes open, a saw the grass below swim past in a blur of motion. I wondered how I could be moving so fast while staying still, until I noticed the shaggy fur of the beast I was riding. All I could do was stare in bewilderment and wonder how I had gotten myself into such a strange scenario.

"I am glad you are awake," came a familiar voice from behind me. "I was afraid I had been too late."

Craning my neck around, I found myself staring at my own reflection and winced, looking quickly away from the shiny breastplate. Lifting my eyes up, I saw Duncan looking at me with muted concern. He looked tired, but there was a grim determination on his face that I envied.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I barked a laugh. "As bad as I look, which is saying a lot," I remarked bitterly. "How long was I out for this time?"

"We left Brecilian Forest four nights ago."

"I was out of it for _four days_?" I exclaimed. "Why?" I asked, even though I felt like I already knew the answer. My returning memories of my last night at my home were anything but reassuring…

I heard Duncan sigh before saying, "Your nearly killed yourself back in the forest. You were about to step into the funeral pyre and got badly burnt in the process. The Keeper healed you as best as she could before our departure, but I was forced to resort to certain…precautions of my own prior to our departure to try to stem the spread of the taint. It is because of these…measures that you have been unconscious for so long."

"What kind of 'measures' are we talking about?" I asked with more than a bit of apprehension. I had no memories of whatever Duncan did to me, but judging by the tone of his voice, it did not sound pleasant.

"It is not of import. What matters is that the taint has been contained." I did not have a chance to mull over that hasty rebuttal because he continued, "I must admit that I had serious doubts about your chances of survival. Never, in all of my years dealing with the darkspawn have I seen the taint spread so…forcefully in a person. Whatever creature lurked in that mirror had been very powerful, powerful enough to subvert your will with its own... I am both surprised and relieved that you have managed to hold it at bay at all."

The same thoughts have been swirling around in the back of my consciousness, but to hear Duncan, a Grey Warden who seemed to have a lifetime of experience dealing with evil, say that I was in serious trouble… Well, that was obviously not a good sign.

"What's happening to me…?" I whispered.

"You have been touched by the essence of a darkspawn. The taint inside you was consuming your body and soul, twisting and corrupting it. You were slowly going mad from the pain, and, if you were to die, you would be transformed into a ghoul – a corrupted creature subservient to the will of the darkspawn horde. Once so transformed, you would develop an insatiable hunger for flesh, and your very touch will taint any living thing you come across."

I shivered as I felt the claws of dread blossom inside of me again. _I am becoming a monster!_ I realised, to my horror. I knew every since waking up in the Keeper's _aravel_ that something was not quite right with me, but to hear Duncan lay it out for me in such graphic detail chilled me to the bone. Trying to take my mind off it (and off my impending doom), I asked, "So…erm…what is it that we are doing here exactly?"

Duncan looked at me quizzically for a moment, but he must have noticed me glancing dubiously at the shaggy creature, for in the next instant he barked a laugh, momentarily dispelling the sombre mood. "Of course! How forgetful of me! You have never seen a horse before have you?" I shook my head. "Well, this animal you are sitting on right now is the fastest, most convenient form of transportation known to the common man. Mages, of course, can travel via magic or with the help of magical objects, such as mirrors, that act as portals to other places, but that ability is only in the expertise of a relative few. Most have to resort to walking or riding."

"Does it mind that we are sitting on it?" I asked, intrigued. I would have never thought of hopping onto an animal and telling it to take me somewhere. I wonder who had had the crazy idea of trying it for the first time…

"No, it has been trained to accept riders. And riders need to be trained in the art of riding. A rider will, through various signals, direct his mount to start, stop, speed up, slow down or turn. The horse accepts these signals and responds appropriately because it has been trained to do so. However, in special cases, a bond of mutual understanding can develop between a rider and his horse, where they are able to move as one, without any perceivable command or gesture. Man and beast become so attuned to each other that they are able to read each other's unspoken intentions temperaments."

"Like two lovers dancing in perfect harmony," I suggested, remembering how I used to be mesmerised by the way my parents would not simply dance, but flow in perfect unison to the beat of the music.

"Yes," Duncan replied after a moment. "I suppose you could think of it like that."

Having exhausted the conversation, we continued riding in silence until twilight. I had a lot to think about, and even though the discussion about horses and riding had been fascinating, it did little to dispel my worries. I was bursting with questions, but I was not quite ready to hear the answers. I still had not fully processed all the events of the past couple of days, and I knew that any new information would just make me collapse in a heap of helplessness.

Tamlen's death – or rather, his _loss_, since we did not actually know if he was dead or if he had turned into a darkspawn, as Duncan had suggested he had – still chaffed at my conscience and I knew that it would be a long time before I would even be able to come to terms with it, let alone consider forgiving myself for what had happened. But I could start by resolving that, from now on, I would think twice before doing _anything_, no matter how insignificant, because the Creators knew that life has a nasty way of hiding major consequences in the guise of innocent-looking pursuits. I had been forced to learn that the hard way, but it was a lesson well-learnt. In the future, I would seek to curb my impulsive need to dash off after the unknown. Instead, I will have to start developing that little voice in the back of my mind, the one that cautioned you against doing stupid things; the one that Tamlen thought I did not have.

"Well, you may have been right about that one, you big worrier," I muttered to myself remorsefully. "But it is something that is going to change," I resolved, gazing into the deepening dusk and wondering what the future held for me.

Which was the other thing that was eating at me – I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. Thanks to my own irresponsibility, I had been forced to hand the reins of my life over to a person I barely even knew, let alone trusted. Sure, during the short time that I have known him, he had saved my life twice and had helped prevent the darkspawn from infesting my home. But apart from his name and the name of the order he claimed to serve, I did not know the first thing about Duncan. What was he doing in Brecilian to begin with? Did he know about the mirror and the darkspawn before Tamlen and I had chanced upon it? If so, why did he not warn the clan? Or had he only heard some rumour and come to investigate? How had he known how to find our camp? After all, the Dalish prided themselves on being able to disguise the location of their homes from witless _shem_…though Duncan seemed anything but witless. And why was he 'helping' me? He confessed it was had not been simple charity on his part, but if his order needed recruits, surely there were better candidates than me! And surely a member of a mythical order whose mission was to save the world from the apparently impending Blight had better things to do than rescue hapless Dalish from their own stupidity…under mysterious circumstances he did not wish to share with me…

But, despite all the unknowns, it seemed I was stuck with Duncan, for better or for worse. He seemed to know what he was doing when it came to darkspawn and curing people from their taint. And so, if he was to be believed, he was my only chance of survival.

As the night deepened, Duncan slowed his horse and eventually stopped next to a copse of stunted trees rising from a virtual sea of grass. My heart leaped with a comforting sense of familiarity that I did not realise I had been missing until now. I guess I had been too preoccupied to think about the fact that I was out in the open, without the protective cover of trees that I had been accustomed to my whole life, but the sight of the coppice offered some measure of relief from the many worries on my mind. I eagerly dismounted to rush towards the stumpy vegetation. Flopping down with my back to the sturdy bark, I breathed in their leafy smell with bittersweet sentiments. On one hand, the smell reminded me of home, but I knew that it was a home I would probably not see again in the near future…or ever again.

While Duncan set up a rudimentary camp with practised ease, I got up and wandered over to the small stream that flowed from amid the trees and attempted to tidy myself up a bit. I would have loved to strip off my leathers and dive into the frigid water, but I was in the company of an almost complete stranger, so I had to content myself with splashing handfuls of water on my face and rinsing my hair. While I did so, I wondered about my life. Out in the open, under the vast expanse of the night sky, I felt very small and very much alone. Some part of me kept insisting that this was all just a bad dream that I would soon wake up from, and end up laughing about the craziness of my imagination. My life had taken a sudden and completely unexpected turn in a new direction and had left me reeling, so I figured that it was only natural if I tried to deny what was happening. But I knew that that was just wishful thinking on my part. I was standing firmly in the middle of my new reality, and the sooner I accepted it the better.

But even cold, hard logic could not dispel the terrible helplessness I felt. Wrapping my arms around myself, I gazed back the way we have come, hoping to catch a glimpse of my home. I could see nothing but darkness. Turning my head towards the direction of our destination, I was greeted with the same sight. The veil of the night obscured both my past and my future. Only the present, lit by the small campfire now blazing cheerfully in front of me, offered any chance of providing me the answers and security that I so desperately craved. My future may be shrouded, but at least I could prepare myself for it.

"What are the darkspawn exactly?" I asked once I had washed myself as best I could. I figured if I was going to be killing these things as part of my new vocation (if I did not become one first), I should know as much about them as possible. After all, a hunter needs to know all the habits of his prey in order to hunt it successfully.

"The Chantry teaches that it was the hubris of men that brought the darkspawn into our world," answered Duncan as he banked the fire for the night. If he seemed surprised by my sudden curiosity after nearly a whole day of silence, he did not show it. "According to their legends, the Maker – the being whom they worship – made the Fade, a metaphysical realm that is the home of the spirits. In it, he created a Golden City for his worshippers to enter when they died. However, a group of magisters of the Tevinter Imperium managed to enter the City while they were still alive, corrupting both the city and themselves. By doing so, the magisters destroyed the souls' haven in the afterlife. As punishment, the Maker cast them out of the Fade, transforming them into hideous monsters that could not bear the light of the sun. They retreated to the Deep Roads, an extensive network of underground roads that once belonged to the dwarven kingdom."

"So the darkspawn were once _shemlen_?" I asked in disbelief. "That explains a lot…"

"_Shemlen_?" queried Duncan.

"Oh…" I said, flushing inadvertently. "_Shemlen_ means 'quickling', an old Elvish term for humans, since to our ancestor's eyes a human's life was merely fleeting. It…it has come to be used as bit of a derogatory term by the Dalish," I admitted sheepishly.

"I see…" was all Duncan said before adding more branches to the fire.

I fidgeted uncomfortably, and when the silence became too much for me to bear, I blurted, "So you think the darkspawn are back? Weren't they all killed during the last Blight?"

"No," came the uncompromising answer. "Many were slain, including the archdemon, and the rest were driven back underground to the Deep Roads. My order has been trying to hunt down those that remained since the end of the Fourth Blight, but it is uncertain how many darkspawn still exist. And, if the rumours are true, then they have managed to create another archdemon, which means that it is only a matter of time before a new Blight is upon us."

"What's an archdemon? And why do they need one to start a Blight?"

"Archdemons are Old Gods that have been tainted by the darkspawn. They take the forms of powerful dragons that possess an intelligence far beyond that of an average dragon. They are purely evil creatures that revel in chaos and death. Most of the time, the darkspawn are organized as a simple hive-mind, concerned only with expanding the horde. They rarely appear on the surface except in raids and small invasions. They need an archdemon to unify their wills into a great horde and start a Blight, unleashing onto the surface a wave of darkness and destruction. It is only by slaying the archdemon that a Blight can be ended."

"And I'm guessing the Grey Wardens will be key in that…"

"Yes," replied Duncan. "The order has been instrumental in defeating all previous Blights."

I gulped uneasily. What have I gotten myself into? Fighting darkspawn was one thing, but fighting an archdemon in the form of an all-powerful and unspeakably evil _dragon_? Who would probably be guarded by a horde of darkspawn if he was as important for the Blight as Duncan said he was…

"But do not worry about that now," said Duncan, almost as if he were reading my thoughts. "Come. You must be hungry. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, and you are going to need your wits about you in Ostagar," he added, unpacking some provisions.

I scuttled eagerly over to the other side of the fire, my stomach rumbling. I did not realise how hungry I was until Duncan had mentioned food. I could feel myself salivating in anticipation of the feast…until I saw what apparently constituted 'food' for a _shem_.

"Erm… what is that?" I asked, pointing a yellow triangle that was giving off a questionable smell.

"This is cheese. It is made from fermented goat's milk."

"Fermented milk?" I asked dubiously, wrinkling my nose. "Why would anyone want to eat that?"

"Well, probably because it appeals to people's taste. But also because it is convenient food to take on the road. But if eating it upsets your sensibilities, then I also have dried pork strips and a half loaf of bread."

I stared at him as if he were speaking at me in another language, which, truth be told, it sounded to me like he was. What on earth was a 'pork' and a 'loaf of bread'? And why did he not have any fruits and vegetables? Or even nuts? I picked a strip of 'pork', which slightly resembled dried venison, and popped it in my mouth.

I almost immediately spat it out. "Eugh! How can you eat that stuff?"

Duncan laughed. "That's the salt you would be tasting. It is used to keep the meat from going bad. Don't the Dalish use salt for seasoning?"

"Not really, no. We use herbs for all our seasoning. Some clans who trade with human villagers sometimes acquire salt, but even then, they use it sparingly."

"Interesting," muttered Duncan. "In that case, all I have left to offer is the bread."

I tore off a bit of the spongy brown thing and popped it in my mouth. It was dry and coarse, but it tasted fine, so I ended up finishing off the whole thing, while Duncan contented himself with the cheese and the pork, which I found out was a small animal that smelled quite bad, but humans kept it around because of its fatty meat.

"Your human cities must be a place to see… or rather, smell. With people keeping pigs in their backyards and eating fermented milk with dried, salty meat, it's a wonder anyone would want to live there at all!"

Duncan chuckled. "Cities do have their vices, it is true, but they also have their attractions. It is in cities that all races tend to concentrate their populations, commerce and power. It is where the brightest minds gather to create new works of beauty and intellect, where great monuments are built to commemorate great achievements, and where history is written. It was the same with the elves, was it not, back in the time of Elvhenan?"

"Yes…" I admitted. "Before it was razed to the ground…"

"It is a fate suffered by many, not just the elves," reminded Duncan. "The dwarves lost all of their cities in the First Blight, except for Orzammar and Kal-Sharok. Their underground empire used to stretch over much of the territory of Thedas, but is now reduced only to a few halls and a spattering of tunnels. The rise and fall of kingdoms and empires is as natural as the turning of the seasons. We can spend all the money, manpower and materials we can amass to build something to last all the ages, only to have it succumb sooner or later to the ravages of Time."

"And wanton destruction…" I sadly. I was not angry at the _shem_ for their devastation of the old elven homeland…I never have been. But remembering the tortured history of my race always filled me with sadness. How could anyone bring themselves to destroy something that was beautiful and special? What could have motivated those _shem_ to almost completely erase a whole civilisation off the face of the earth?

"Yes," agreed Duncan, also with a tinge of remorse in his voice. "Which is why we must do all we can to stem this new Blight before it has a chance to spread."


	5. All the King's Men

**Chapter 5 – All the King's Men**

"_There is something behind the throne greater than the King himself_."

– William Pitt the Elder

We rose before dawn the next morning and set out at a brisk canter in the hope of reaching Ostagar by the late afternoon. As we rode, Duncan filled me in about the history and significance of the place.

"The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Chasind Wilders from invading the northern lowlands," he explained. "It is fitting that we make our stand there against the Blight – Ostagar once represented the furthest outpost of Tevinter and used to be little more than fortress. Over the years it has been expanded, but its essential function remained military."

"And this is where you think the Blight will hit first?" I asked.

"Yes. King Cailan's forces have clashed with the darkspawn there several times over the past few weeks, and the fortress is where the bulk of the horde is expected to show itself. The few Grey Wardens who are currently in the kingdom of Ferelden have also gathered at Ostagar to assist the king's efforts. This may be our only chance to stop the Blight before it has a chance to gather momentum. If we are unable to contain the darkspawn there, they will spread to the north and Ferelden will fall."

"I see…" I replied, trying to digest the seriousness of the task at hand, and wondering what my role in it will be. Would I be expected to stand in the front lines, ready to die in defence of a fort and a kingdom I had no ties with, much less cared about? Or would Duncan devise some other task for me in conjunction with the war effort? Assuming of course, that I even survived that long… The taint had been dormant ever since we had left Bercilian Forest, but I was not counting on it staying quiet for long. It seemed to have a habit of awakening when it came into contact with manifestations of evil or magic, and I had a feeling that I would be finding plenty of that in a city that was making a stand against the oncoming Blight. I just hoped Duncan knew what he was doing and would give me the cure soon…

My sombre thoughts were interrupted as we neared our destination. Approaching the massive and imposing construction of stone that was Ostagar, all I could do was gape unashamedly. Its walls reared into the heavens, their smooth surface reflecting the early afternoon sun with an almost blinding glare, making me wonder who, in their right mind, would ever want to attack such an unassailable structure. Peeping over the walls were elegant spires and domes that hinted at a richness of architectural marvels that I could hardly begin to imagine. It must have taken decades, if not centuries, to construct such a place, not to mention the amount of skill and money the builders must have needed to realise their visions…and it was only supposed to be a measly fortress.

To think that I had previously believed all _shem_ to be uncivilised barbarians!

I had to concede that my world was opening up mighty fast, and I figured that I should probably discard all my (mostly) unfounded prejudices lest I end up offending someone I really shouldn't. I still regretted my inadvertent slip of tongue with Duncan the night before. I wasn't sure whether his lack of reaction was a good thing or a bad thing, but, in order to be on the safe side, I would have to choose my words more carefully in a place like Ostagar.

Duncan drew us to a halt just before the gates and dismounting, and began rummaging around in one of the saddle bags. Presently, he pulled out a very familiar set of weapons.

"My grandfather's swords!" I exclaimed, rushing over to grab them. "I thought I had left them behind…" I mused as I buckled them on.

"I took the liberty of collecting them from your _avarel_, along with a few other possession I thought you would be needing," he explained, handing over a leather bag that, on a quick inspection, I found contained some changes of clothes, a small pouch of dried fruits and nuts, a satchel of herbs and spices for brewing tea, and a small dagger with carved bone handle that had belonged to my mother. My eyes filled with inadvertent tears as I whispered, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," came the warm response. Looking up, I could see Duncan wearing a rare smile.

We proceed to walk into the fortress, a comforting air of solidarity between us. I, however, quickly became absorbed by the sight as I craned my neck left and right, trying to take in all that I was seeing…so much so that I nearly collided with the man approaching us at a brisk pace with a retinue of armed guards.

"Careful there, my lady," he murmured in a cheerful voice as he steadied me. Looking up, I found myself staring into sparkling green eyes and a handsome face framed by hair the colour of the sun. A lope-sided smile danced at his lips, making my heart skip a beat. "Ho, there Duncan," he greeted, laying eyes on the Grey Warden. "I have been waiting for you."

"King Cailan!" cried Duncan, reaching us. "I did not expect…"

"A royal welcome?" came the wry response.

I did a double take. _This_ was the king? I could hardly believe it… He looked nothing like I had imagined a human monarch to look like, nor did he act like he spent all day governing an entire kingdom, much less riding into a horde of darkspawn every day before breakfast. And he was so _handsome_… I quickly shook my head to dispose of _that_ unnecessary thought! I was here to get initiated into a military order and then fight to death, not fawn over _shem_ like a love-sick maiden.

"Your majesty has a knack of catching me by surprise," confessed Duncan, offering a small bow. "My sincerest apologies for my delay…"

"Oh, Duncan, there is no need for that," chided the king, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. "Though I was beginning to worry that you would miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty," came the subdued response.

"Then I will have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious! I cannot wait for us to ride out together during the next fray and immortalise our names in song." Duncan merely glanced around uncomfortably.

I watched the exchange in fascination. During the short time that I had known him, I had come to view Duncan as a boulder – strong, steadfast and not easily dislodged, but with the ability to do some serious damaged once he got rolling. And now, here he was, looking decidedly flustered in the presence of a man much younger and probably much less experienced than him. I did not know all that much about political hierarchies and military ranks at this point, since Dalish society was organised according to more egalitarian ideas, so all I could do was stare and wonder exactly what it was about King Cailan that had upset Duncan's customary stoicism.

"The other Wardens told me that you have managed to find a promising new recruit. Am I to assume that this is she?" asked Cailan, turning to me with a dazzling smile that made me catch my breath despite my previous resolves.

"Yes, your Majesty," replied Duncan, seeming more composed now that he was in familiar territory. "Allow me to introduce you…"

"No need to be so formal, Duncan. I am sure the lady can speak for herself. After all, we will be shedding blood together, though I find it hard to believe that someone as lovely as yourself would want to partake in the horrors battle," he murmured, raising my hand to his lips and brushing it with a feather of a kiss. I shivered. "As you may have gathered by now, I am Cailan."

I stammered for a second, not quite sure how to respond. At this moment I probably looked anything but 'lovely' and no, I did not actually want to partake in the horrors of battle, and the fact that his green eyes were boring into mine expectantly was not helping my concentration! I finally managed to blurt, "Feylin. Mahariel. Of the Oak Clan."

"Ah, so you are a Dalish! It's truly an honour to meet you!" Cailan exclaimed, dropping a small bow of his own. I fidgeted uncomfortably. What on earth are you supposed do when a king bows to you? Do you bow in return? Do you smile graciously? Or, in my case, do you just stand there looking like an incompetent fool? Luckily, my embarrassment was quickly relieved as Cailan continued good-naturedly, "I have always longed to meet one of your folk, but have never had a chance to until now. I am forever in your debt. Allow me to be the first to formally welcome you to Ostagar. It is a bit of a dump and filled to the brim with soldiers, but I am sure the bards will gloss over that when they write their epic ballads of our conquests."

"Erm… Thank you, your Majesty," I mumbled, again not quite sure how to respond. I was beginning to understand why Duncan had been so flummoxed… King Cailan oscillated between monarch and man so quickly that it was almost impossible to keep track of what persona he was donning at each particular moment, much less what the appropriate reaction for someone like me was supposed to be!

"Right, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies," sighed Cailan with mock bereavement. "Unless you have some news for me, Duncan?"

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory! We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different!"

"You seem very confident, your Majesty. I did not realise things were going so well…"

"Things are going better than well! In fact, things are going excellent! To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn in the field, but alas, we've no sign of an archdemon," the King bemoaned, much to my surprise. Wasn't the lack of an archdemon supposed to be a good thing?

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" inquired Duncan with an uncharacteristic hint of slyness.

Cailan laughed. "Yes, I supposed I am. I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do. Anyway, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farwell, Grey Wardens!" And, with a majestic swirl of his midnight blue cloak, he was gone. All I could do was stare at the place he had just occupied, which somehow still seemed to be filled with his presence. I felt like I had just been engulfed by a giant wave and had unceremoniously been dumped back onto the beach.

"Well, that certainly was an experience…" I piped, once I had recovered slightly.

"Yes," agreed Duncan, also with a slightly far-away sound to his voice. "King Cailan has a very…peculiar effect on people."

"Tell me about it…" I muttered as we continued walking again, Duncan leading his horse. "You have to admire his optimism though…"

"What the King said is true. They have won several battles against the darkspawn here…"

"But you aren't convinced by his assessment," I surmised.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. Whether the king knows of this or not, I cannot say. But what I do know is that there is an archdemon behind this. However, I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"Why not? He seems to have a soft spot for the Grey Wardens."

"It is not my duty to advise the king in matters of strategy. The Grey Wardens are here merely as reinforcements. Despite what some people might say about us, we do not have free reign to influence royal decisions. That is the task of Teyrn Loghain."

"Cailan mentioned him. Who is he exactly?"

"The teyrn is one of the most influential men of the king's court. He was born to a family of farmers during a time when Ferelden was occupied by Orlais, one of its neighbours. Loghain lost his home and family, and was forced into exile in the wilds, eking out an existence with other outlaws. Subsequently, he joined the rebel army and became a key force behind its success. Once the Orlaisians were beaten back, he was rewarded with the title of teyrn by King Maric, Cailan's father. He has been a trusted royal advisor ever since."

"_You_ don't sound like you trust him very much…"

"Loghain is suspicious, if not outright hostile of the Grey Wardens, whom he suspects are a cover for nefarious Orlesian activities. This is of course untrue. The Grey Wardens serve no sovereign power – we are an independent and free-standing order. Our mission is merely to act as a bulwark against a Blight and to protect Thedas from darkspawn attacks. Yet, during war meetings, Loghain seems to take a special interesting in undermining anything the Grey Wardens have to say. The order cannot side against him, however; his support is essential if we are to stop this Blight. We sent a call out west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be some days before they can join us. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. Therefore, we must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."

"I see…" I muttered, trying to digest this new deluge of information. Nothing was ever simple in the human world, it seemed.

"And, to that end," continued Duncan, "we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

"Ritual? What ritual?" I asked, snapping my head up in surprise.

"As I mentioned back in Bercilian Forest, the Grey Wardens do have an initiation ceremony. Every new recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining to become part of the Order. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. I do not believe we have much time before the next assault, and so we must begin soon."

"Why the secrecy?"

Duncan sighed. Whether it was with regret or annoyance, I could not tell. "The Joining is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust what is done is necessary."

"Am I the only recruit you have?" I asked apprehensively. I did not really like the sound of this furtive ritual and was hoping that I would not have to go through with it by myself.

"No, there are two others here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive. There is also another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. Seek him out and tell him it is time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to."

Looking up, I saw that we had arrived at a ramshackle stone bridge that spanned a wide chasm, effectively splitting Ostagar into two. It did not look very safe – large sections had collapsed, leaving gaping holes in the sides of the structure, as if a giant had taken massive bites out of the stone. However, soldiers were striding over it confidently, without any heed to the rubble that littered the path, so I figured there should be no immediate danger of me meeting my untimely demise…as of yet. In fact, Duncan was already leading his horse over it at a brisk pace, leaving me standing by myself.

I watched him go with more than a pinch of anxiety. Up until now, Duncan had been my much-needed guide out here in the wider world and as I watched him stride away, I felt very much alone. But, life goes on. So, adjusting the strap of the bag that contained all my worldly possessions and gripping the leather band that secured my swords for reassurance, I took a deep breath and started across the crumbling bridge. As I walked, I knew that with each step I was heading further into the unknown. Up until now, I had at least a vague idea of the foreseeable future. But now that I was actually here in Ostagar, in the middle of a brewing war, I had no idea what to expect. I knew that I had to go through with this mysterious ritual that Duncan kept referring to, but for some reason he was reluctant to let me in on the full details. Which worried me… And after that, assuming that I survived this apparently highly dangerous Joining, and was cured of the taint, and was accepted into the order...well, let's just say that I had a lot of 'ifs' to satisfy before I could even begin to contemplate what was in store for me next.

Reaching the end of the bridge, I climbed a couple of hazardous looking stairs and found myself at the edge of a large courtyard that was filled with tents, men, cooking fires and a disconcerting array of disintegrating architecture. There was also a peculiar musky smell in the air that I could not quite place, but one that made me wrinkle my nose. Glancing around uncertainly, I saw a guard dressed in elaborate armour who seemed to be quite official looking, so I approached him in the hopes that he would be able to point me in the direction of this Alistair that I was supposed to find.

"King Cailan is not in his tent right now," came the brusque pronouncement as I approached.

"Erm, actually I was wondering if you knew where I might find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair…?"

"Alistair? You mean the king's half-brother?"

"I guess…" Cailan had a half-brother in the Grey Wardens? Funny how Duncan forgot to mention that… Though that would explain why Cailan was so enthusiastic about the Order.

"I believe he's on the far side of the camp," the guard replied, making a vague indication to the east.

"Right. Thanks," I chirped with contrived gratitude as I whirled away to locate a better informant, only have myself collide sharply with a steel breastplate and narrowly avoid sprawling all over the dirt.

"You should watch your feet, soldier," barked a gruff voice. Steadying myself and massaging my face, I found myself in the presence of a tall man with long hair the colour of a raven's wing and storm-grey eyes that bore into mine with such intensity that made me feel that I had in fact ended up in the dust.

"Sorry…sir," I added, for good measure. This was obviously one _shem_ I did not want to provoke further… Stepping gingerly around him and keeping my eyes to the ground, I hoped to make a quick escape.

"Hold," he commanded, making me lurch to a stop against my will. "You must be Duncan's new Grey Warden…"

"Yes…" I conceded warily. I then risked the question, "How did you know?"

He barked a laugh that was entirely without humour. "The way you stumble around camp like a newborn doe marks you out clearly as a new recruit. And the fact that you have not been issued with the standard Ferelden military uniform suggests that either you are mercenary or a Grey Warden (not that the two are that different really), but I wagered on the latter because a mercenary would at least have some physical co-ordination."

I blinked, too surprised at how he had managed to figure me out to even think about being offended. I finally managed to recover my tongue: "You must be Teyrn Loghain."

It was his turn to blink, and I silently congratulated myself. "Impressive. I assume you figured that out because my tent is next to the king's?"

Actually it had been a wild guess based on his haughty demeanour and thinly disguised distaste for the Grey Wardens. Though the fact that he perfectly resembled the image I had painted of the man based on Duncan's short description had been helpful. But luckily I did not have to tell him any of that because he continued, "Maybe there is something to you Grey Wardens after all. Though Cailin's fascination with your Order goes beyond the ordinary. Are you aware of that fact that it was his father who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden?"

"A fascination that you don't seem to share," I replied, sidestepping the question and the fact that I had not actually known that. But I did wonder whether it was significant; Loghain certainly thought it was. I made a mental note to ask Duncan later.

Loghain growled in displeasure. "The Wardens are impressive, but not as relevant as Cailin thinks. You have some experience to bring to the Grey Wardens, do you? You don't seem half as green as most of the men here, aside from your apparent lack of spatial awareness. I don't suppose you'll be riding into the thick of battle with the rest of your fellows, will you?"

"It remains to be seen."

"If Cailin has his way, you will. Now I must return to my tasks. Pray that our king proves amenable to wisdom, if you're the praying sort."

"And if he doesn't?" I asked testily. I really did not like this Teyrn Loghain…

"Then simply pray," he responded cryptically, before brushing past me with all the arrogance that only a self-styled noble could muster. I stared at his retreating back with distaste before marching off to resume my own task of tracking down Alistair. Despite my previous resolve to watch my tongue, it seems I had just managed to make an enemy out of one of the most powerful men in the camp. I hoped that this development would not adversely prejudice me in any way, but I nevertheless made a resolution to avoid Loghain in the future.

As I waddled uncertainly through the camp in search of the elusive Alistair, I caught bits of conversation from around the campfires that made me pause and listen for a while. I had never seen so many _shem_ gathered in one place, so I was curious to find out more about the men and women I would probably end up fighting beside.

A young woman, barely more than a girl, kneeled on the broken cobble stones, facing the setting sun, muttered fervent prayers under her breath, her delicate hands clutched in front of her. Meanwhile, standing near an intricately carved pillar that was in serious danger of toppling over, a man and a woman dressed in battle gear conversed softly about what I assumed was their previous encounter with darkspawn. Neither seemed very confident about the outcome of the next engagement, however. In fact, the entire camp seemed strangely subdued, as if waiting for the coming of a storm, but uncertain as to exactly when it would strike. Soldiers were gathered in small groups, huddling close to the warmth of the fires and talking in hushed tones, if they were talking at all. Some were cooking, some were polishing weapons and armour and some still were huddled in prayer.

Overall, it was not a very encouraging sight…

As dusk fell, I continued to wander around camp half-heartedly. I tried to inquire a couple of times about Alistair, but no one seemed to know where to find him. Based on some of remarks that people made, though, he did not seem to be very popular man, despite his close connection with the king. Maybe the two had a falling out? Not that I really cared about the inter-familial intricacies of the royal house at the moment. I was tired, hungry and more than a little irked. How was I supposed to find a man in a camp of several thousand _shem_, especially when I had no idea what he looked like? Duncan could have honestly given me a little bit more information…

I was shuffling dejectedly past some ruins that must have once been a marvel to behold, thinking about calling it a day and returning to Duncan empty handed, when a certain strand of testy conversation caught my attention and made me pause.

"What? _You_ again? Haven't the Grey Wardens demanded enough of the Circle's precious time? What could possibly be so important that you must interrupt me _yet again_?" a robed man with flashing eyes barked testily at an armoured _shem_ with a mop of messy hair the colour of the setting sun.

"Actually," came the response, "I am here on behalf of the Revered Mother, ser mage. She desires your presence, as soon as humanly possible, in fact, and wonders if her previous letters have gotten mislaid somehow." The _shem_'s voice was polite, though I could detect of a raging tidal wave of mischief and ill-conceived humour lurking just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed at the smallest invitation. Sliding behind a crumbling pillar, I decided to amuse myself by bearing witness to the coming spectacle. And, since the armoured man seemed to be a Grey Warden, I finally had a chance at located this elusive Alistair.

"What her Reverance 'desires'," spat the robed man, "is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the king's orders, I might add! So you can pass on a message of my own… Tell her I have no time for her infantile requests!"

"In a bad mood, are we, ser mage? I would be too if I woke up one day and found that my razor had magically sprouted legs and had eloped with my comb…" I had to bite my lips to keep myself from bursting out in a completely inappropriate, but highly justified guffaw. The quip had been completely spot on, for the mage looked in desperate need of a good brush and shave for his long black hair was sticking out in all sorts of strange angles.

"Your glibness does you no credit, Alistair," the robed man sneered, clearly not amused. "Duncan may value whatever questionable talents you may possess, but I, for one, am not fooled by your posturing. Now, be gone from my sight! I find your presence offending…"

"Alistair?" I gasped out loud, a mixture of surprise and relief flooding through me. Then realisation dawned and I quickly smacked my hands over my lips, worried that my outburst had given me away. But the two men were too involved in their argument, and luckily had not heard me.

"Oh, really?" quipped the newly-identified Alistair, clearly enjoying taunting the man. "Should I ask the Reverend Mother to write a note next time? One more to add to your mounting collection? That way you need not suffer my 'offending' presence… Not that I agree with that assessment, by the way, but that's a discussion for another time. _Or_..." he added, slowly and deliberately, giving the mage a side-ways glance that made the man cringe, "I could ask the Revered Mother to come down here in person. Now _that_ would be a sight worthy of the tales! I can already see the scene, as clear as…"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake, _fine_!" cried the mage, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I will speak with the Revered Mother! Now get out of my way. You have aggravated me enough for one day!" Hunching his shoulders up, he stormed away in a huff, brushing right past the pillar I was hiding behind, but taking no notice of me in his haste to put as much distance between himself and the pert Warden as possible.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Alistair gazed after him with a wry look on his face. "I just love how a Blight brings everyone together…" he murmured to himself. Then, a bit more loudly, "You can come out from behind that pillar now. I would hate it if the thing toppled over and crushed you before we had a chance to become acquainted."

Feeling quite sheepish, I stepped out from my admittedly rubbish hiding place and approached Alistair. His eyes, whose colour I could not fathom, but which shone with the same compelling light as Cailan's did, watched every step I took with a mixture of amusement and wariness, sizing me up and trying to determine whether I was friend or foe.

"I have never seen you before," he admitted as I came to a stop a couple of feet from him. "You're not another mage, are you?"

I slanted him a side-ways glance. "Do I look even half as delusional as that stuck-up old robe?"

Alistair blinked and then laughed throatily. "No, I suppose you don't. But, first impressions can be deceiving, so just thought I should check in case I had to prepare a quick exit strategy. As you have probably gathered, things aren't too cosy between the mages and myself…"

"Nope, definitely not a mage," I said, smiling brightly. I liked Alistair already. He seemed to have the same propensity of being dragged into trouble by his big mouth as I did. And his humour, even if slightly questionable at times, was a welcome change to the constant brooding that affected the whole camp. "I'm Feylin, by the way. Duncan asked me to find you."

"Did he?" he asked, cocking his head towards me in boyish surprise. "That must mean that you're the new recruit and that the Joining will begin soon. Come, let's gather the others and report to Duncan before we get our heads bitten off by the old man."

"He's not that bad," I countered as we walked briskly through the camp.

"Like I said, appearances can be deceiving," he replied with a wink. "Have you stumbled across the other two greenhorns yet?"

"No," I said after a beat, realising he was talking about the other aspiring Wardens. "Should I have?"

"Probably not, though it pays to be prepared. Jory's a nice enough guy for a country bumpkin, though I would watch myself around Daveth. Tried to steal Duncan's purse and do you know how the old man repaid him?" He didn't even wait for a response before ploughing on. "He recruited the rogue into the Order! Explain that to me!"

"I'm sure Duncan had his reasons…" I demurred.

"Yeah, he seems to have a soft spot for miscreants stuck in unpleasant situations as a result of their stupidity…"

"Ho, Alistair!" cried a rough-looking _shem_ as he got up from one of the cooking fires to approach us. He was followed by another man who was dressed modestly in browns and muted greens.

"Speak of the devil…" murmured Alistair as the duo reached us.

"I see you've picked up a new playmate," continued the rough-looking _shem_, giving me a once over that made me bristle. "Does she like group _activities_?' he asked with a wink. I resisted the urge to knock his crooked teeth out.

"Actually, I would watch myself around this one, Daveth," cautioned Alistair. "She's Duncan's new recruit. She could probably bash your brains out with one arm tied behind her back."

"This frail looking willow-o-wisp?" questioned Daveth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Are you sure she wouldn't better serve the Order better by tending the cooking fires and warming our be–"

"You were saying?" I asked sweetly, the sharp point of my mother's dagger suddenly pressed against his throbbing jugular, making him pause.

"Ah, temperamental are we?" he chuckled, but his eyes flashed with sudden fear.

"Like I said, I would watch myself," repeated Alistair, giving me a wink. "Now, if all of us have finished with the pleasantries of getting to know each other, I would suggest we get moving. It's late and Duncan hates to be kept waiting."

"So," muttered Daveth as he settled into step besides me. "What's a pretty little thing like yourself doing in the middle of a warzone? Don't you think the men are fit to handle this fighting business?"

"I could ask the same of you," I replied with a sly smile, though my fingers drifted to my dagger again.

"Ha! You got a smart mouth, girl. I would watch myself if I was you…wouldn't want to be offending someone by accident. Plus, I'm sure there are ways that you could put that quick tongue of yours to better use," he added with a leer.

I shivered with disgust. But before I could hurl a reply back at him, Duncan's voice boomed over us. "All the new recruits have been gathered. Good. You are now ready to begin preparations for the Joining."

10


	6. Into the Wilds

**Chapter 6 – Into the Wilds**

_You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition._

- Alan Ada

"So, I'm curious," asked Alistair the next morning as we left camp. "Have any of you actually encountered any darkspawn before?"

"Why do you ask?" I queried, biting into a shiny apple I had filched from a guard while he was not looking. Since leaving home, I had developed a ravenous appetite and was persistently on the lookout for food. It was probably to do with the constant activity and the sudden change of scenery...

"Just wondering how much of a nanny will I need to be out in the Wilds," he replied dryly. "It's no fun when you have to babysit."

"No need to worry about us, boss," quipped Daveth from behind me. "Jory and I can handle ourselves in a fight. It's the little miss you should be worried about. Frail thing like her... could be an easy target."

"Are you sure? If I remember correctly, she's a quick one," Alistair pointed out.

Glancing over at Daveth, I saw his hand move to the small cut my dagger had left at his neck. "Maybe. Guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens at the first sign of trouble," he responded darkly, catching my eye.

I looked quickly away. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me. Instead of proving that I was just as capable as a man in a fight, all I had managed to do is make myself another enemy who was probably planning the most opportune moment to knife me in the back. Not exactly the best way to start off a relationship with my new comrades-in-arms.

"What do we need these vials of blood for exactly?" I asked Alistair, increasing my pace to join him at the front in an effort to put as much distance between myself and Daveth as I could, and also to find out more about the strange tasks Duncan had set us.

"To feed Duncan's secret blood lust," came the sombre reply. I stared at Alistair in bewilderment. "What?" he asked in surprise. "Didn't you know he has a surreptitious craving for 'spawn blood? Ow!" he cried as I elbowed him in the ribs. "Okay, I guess I deserved that..."

"So what's it really for?" I prompted.

"The Joining ritual," he replied.

"I know that," I said irately. Duncan had said as much last night, but, of course, gave no details.

"Then you should also know that I am under oath not to reveal any detail concerning the Joining ritual to an uninitiated lest the wrath of Maker smite me from the face of the earth."

"Are you always so dramatic?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Yes," he replied seriously. "Life would be so dull otherwise."

"Why can't Duncan get the blood?" I asked, returning to the topic at hand.

"Tradition. Recruits are supposed to prove themselves to the Order by killing their first darkspawn and acquiring its blood for use in the Joining."

"Technically I've already done that then. Killed darkspawn, I mean."

"Hmm, that explains why Duncan recruited you. Not many people can face the 'spawn and live to tell the tale. Though good to see you're not completely green around the ears, like most of the soldiers here. I fully expected half of them to just drop their weapons and make themselves scarce when the first wave hit...I know I would have. When I fought my first 'spawn, I had not been prepared for how monstrous the thing would be. To be honest, I can't say I'm looking forward to my next encounter…"

"Bad choice of profession then," I remarked dryly.

"Well, it was either this or staying with the Chantry. Not much of a choice there, really."

"The Chantry?" I asked, remembering my conversation with Duncan and wondering what Alistair could possibly have to do with them.

"Yeah, I was raised by the Order and trained to be a Templar."

"A Templar?"

Alistair stopped walking and turned to regard me with a raised eyebrow. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I laughed. "No, I'm not. I'm from Brecilian Forest."

"You're a Dalish?" he asked, eyes opening wide. "Huh… Guess you're not just a myth after all…"

"We're not _that_ reclusive," I protested as we began walking again. Though I had begun to wonder, nevertheless. Both Cailin's and Alistair's reaction to my heritage pointed to the fact that us Dalish have withdrawn too far from the rest of the world. "So, what's a Templar then?" I asked again, trying to steer him back to the earlier conversation.

"Essentially, a fighter raised on religious dogma. The Chantry would tell you that the Templars exist simply to defend, but don't let them fool you. They're an army bred for a dual purpose: to spread the Chantry's religion, by force, if necessary, and to hunt down apostates – rogue mages who are outside of the control of the Circle."

"I see…" I murmured, studying Alistair in light of this new information. He did not look like a religious fanatic who spent his time tracking down mages for a living, but, like he had said himself, first impressions can be deceiving. "So how did you end up with the Grey Wardens?"

Alistair cast me glance that made me think that he wasn't going to answer. But a moment later, the cheer was back in his eyes as he said, "To cut a long story short, Duncan found me, saw me moping about, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I stand, a proud Grey Warden," he finished with a slight dose of self-mockery. I saw the subject was making him slightly uncomfortable, and I was going to let it lie, but he continued after a moment. "As you can probably guess, my history with the Chantry puts me in a bit of an awkward position when it comes to mages. In fact, I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult, sending me as the messenger yesterday, and that mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to co-operate and get along. Apparently, they didn't get the same speech…"

"Why are things so tense between the Chantry and the mages?"

"The Circle of Mages is here at the king's request and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. The Circle is governed by the Chantry, which ensures that the mages remain neutral in a conflict…something to do with the balance of power or some other such nonsense. The main exception to this rule is a Blight. However, that doesn't stop the Chantry from letting the mages know how unwelcome they are."

"I see…" I murmured again, attempting, once more, to make sense of a vast amount of potentially very important information that had been casually dumped on me. I was beginning to regret leaving the safe cocoon of my previous life and agreeing to enter this huge mess of political power-mongering that until now I had no idea even existed, let alone thought that I would have to navigate my way through. I wondered how Cailan (or whoever was in charge), managed to keep things under control in the camp. I was sure that, given half the chance, the entire congregation would descend into anarchy, with the various feuding factions and organisations jumping at each others' throats with knives carefully sharpened for that specific purpose. Maybe that was why the Dalish and the dwarves had withdrawn from the rest of Ferelden to live in relative obscurity…

But I wasn't given time to ponder that thought because at that moment, I heard something. "Someone's in trouble," I gasped as I raced down the track, swords in hand. After a moment's confusion, the others thundered after me, their armour clanking, no doubt alerting the whole Wilds to our presence. We were met with a grisly sight. Mutilated bodies were scattered across the glade and the stench of death filled the air. I gaged, trying to keep my meagre breakfast in my stomach.

"What happened here?" asked Jory in disbelief. Alistair had told me he was a knight from a town to the north called Redcliffe. He had been recruited by Duncan after winning some sort of local tournament. He was a solid and decent man, but not the brightest light in the harbour.

"Let's ask him," replied Daveth as he made his way over to a groaning soldier – the only survivor.

"Help…me," he rasped, his voice weak from the loss of blood.

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks," quipped Alistair in a bad attempt to lighten the mood.

Kneeling down next to the poor _shem_, I asked him to tell us what happened as I set about bandaging the worst of his wounds from the emergency supply Duncan had given us.

"My scouting party…attacked by a band of darkspawn. Came out of nowhere, springing from the ground…stood no chance. Please…help me return to camp…"

"An entire band of seasoned soldiers slaughtered by darkspawn?" gasped Jory. "Is Duncan mad? What chance do we possibly stand?"

"Hold your breeches together, Jory," Daveth muttered. "These men were caught by surprise."

"Exactly! If that happened to us, how long do you think we'll survive? There is an entire army in these woods!"

"We are in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde," chided Alistair.

"Really? What makes you so sure?" Jory was getting hysterical. "This mission is stupid and reckless! I did not sign up for this! I'm going back."

"Overcoming these fears is part of the test," Alistair pointed out, serious for once. "Plus, all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. That is why I am with you. Whatever tricks they may have up their sleeve, I can assure you they won't take us by surprise, like they did these poor sods."

"Excellent!" cried Daveth. "We may die horribly gruesome deaths, but at least we'll be warned about it!"

"That said," continued Alistair, "I am not here to make this easy for you. Only those who can demonstrate their ability to fight and survive on their own merits are fit to join the Order. I trust you are not a coward, Ser Jory?"

The man's eyes narrowed in defiance. "Of course I am no coward. I am a knight of Redcliffe."

"Then let's see you prove it. Are we ready to move on?" Alistair demanded.

"Are you able to stand?" I asked the soldier once I had done what I could. My hands were covered in blood. I wiped them unceremoniously on my trousers and wondered how many more times I would have to do that before the end of the day.

"Yes, I think so," the soldier replied shakily.

"The way behind us is clear," said Alistair. "You should be able to make it back to camp safely. Unfortunately we are on an important mission, otherwise we would escort you back."

"Take this," I said, handing him one of the healing potions Duncan had supplied us with. "It should make your journey easier."

"Oh, thank you," gushed the soldier. "You have done more than I could have hoped for. Were it not for you, I was sure I would never see my wife and children again. I am forever in your debt."

"Let's press on," said Alistair once the soldier had hobbled around the bend. "I sense darkspawn about and we do not want to be caught by surprise, do we Ser Jory?" Daveth barked a laugh as the knight flushed red.

We moved deeper into the marsh. The going was slow, as we frequently had to stop and backtrack when we came across a stretch of ground that had been claimed by water. It was eerily quiet – no sound of birds singing, no wind to shake the leaves. Even the water seemed reluctant to the lap the shores. It was the same silence that Merril had remarked upon back in Brecilian Forest. It did not last long, however, as we came upon another macabre sight.

"Now, that is just excessive!" remarked Alistair as we drew closer. Suspended from a fallen tree spanning two mounds, hung half a dozen mutilated bodies. Crows were already feasting on the remains.

"Looks like we found the rest of the scouting party," muttered Daveth. Though his voice was light, his hand was tight on the hilt of his sword.

"There is a group of six darkspawn over the next hill." The words were out of my mouth before I realised it was me who had spoken.

"Hmm…you're right," confirmed Alistair. "How do you know?"

"Darkspawn have an unwholesome smell," I shrugged. In truth I had absolutely no idea how I knew. But I knew with absolute conviction that I was right.

Alistair gave me a strange look, but made no comment. Instead, he turned to Daveth and Jory. "All right men, you heard the lady. There are six 'spawn over that hill. Do what you gotta do, but make sure you leave some blood to collect. You all have your vials?" We nodded in unison. "Good. Let's kill ourselves some darkspawn."

The fight was quick and vicious. Alistair and Daveth cut down two darkspawn before the creatures even realised they were being ambushed. Jory balked a bit at the sight of the monsters, but when a particularly large one charged at him with a nast- looking battle axe, all his inhibitions melted away as his instinct to survive kicked in. While the men were engaged at close quarters, I snuck through the bushes to deal with the two archers who were attempting to snipe us down from their hiding places. Sticking my knife in the neck of the first (because after what happened last time I was reluctant to use my swords again), I felt bile rise in my throat as dark blood squirted over me. Swallowing my disgust, I concentrated on dispatching the second as quickly as possible.

"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" I heard Daveth remark as I emerged from the shrubbery. I quickly counted the corpses.

"Where's the sixth?" I asked.

"Eh?" came the unintelligent response from Daveth

"Uh-oh…" came the more worrying one from Jory.

Turning around, I found myself looking at the biggest darkspawn I had ever seen charging at us at full tilt. Its mouth was open in a primal bellow, revealing a row of wicked teeth, as it lifted its battle hammer high to crush each of us with a single blow. I was frozen on the spot, unable to move, even though I knew that unless I did, I was doomed for sure. Yet just as I was preparing myself for certain death, something whizzed past my ear and imbedded itself in the darkspawn's neck, making him stumble, but not fall. I snapped out of my daze and dived to the side as the thing came thundering across the spot I had been standing, only for it to be unceremoniously decapitated by Alistair's sword.

"First rule of combat," said Alistair, sheathing is sword. "Never hesitate." Daveth smirked at me as he collected his throwing dagger. "Now, if we have reassured ourselves that all our appendages are still attached," Alistair continued, "I suggest you collect the blood before it seeps away into the ground. Unless, of course, you want to kill some more darkspawn."

Jory rushed towards the nearest corpse almost enthusiastically, vial already in hand. I followed a bit more sedately, still a bit dazed from my close brush with death. Turning to Daveth, who was close behind me, I said simply, "Thanks."

He looked like he was going to reply with a smart comment, but then merely nodded in return, brushing past me to kneel at a fallen darkspawn and slit its throat. I followed suit and soon all three of us had a vial of dark, sticky blood.

"Well done, lads…and lady," congratulated Alistair. "You are all well on your way to becoming legendary Grey Wardens. Now all we need to do is collected those treaties and we can return to camp."

"Somehow I doubt it will be that easy," Jory muttered darkly as we followed Alistair down the muddy track.

"Oh, cheer up ser knight!" cried Daveth, slapping his companion on the back. "What can possibly go wrong?"

Quite a bit, it turned out. Despite Alistair's promise that he would give us ample notice of a darkspawn presence, we somehow managed to run into a large band almost without warning. Fighting our way out turned out to be quite a challenge, with Daveth suffering a nasty cut to his face and Jory nearly losing an arm. To make matters worse, Alistair accidentally led us into a bog, so we were all soaking wet by the time we managed to find our way back to dry land. And just when we thought the worst was over, we discovered that we were in for a nasty surprise.

"Dammit!" cried Alistair as we entered the clearing where the Grey Warden archives had once stood. Now all that was left were a few crumbling arches, a couple of bits of wall and a ruined chest. Rushing forward, he knelt beside the moulding wood and searched vainly inside for the precious scrolls. "They're gone."

"So we came all this way for nothing?" asked Daveth, booting a stone angrily into the water.

"Didn't Duncan say that only a Grey Warden could break the treaty seals?" I queried.

"Yes, though apparently the same did not apply for the chest," muttered Alistair, sitting back dejectedly on his heels.

"What do we do now?" asked Jory.

"Yes, what _do_ you do now?" inquired a silken voice. "Poor little vultures can't find anything to scavenge on? Were you hoping to pick at the old bones of the Wilds and come away with riches?"

"We are not vultures," Daveth replied testily, drawing his sword. "We are here for what is rightfully ours."

"I am afraid whatever it is you are seeking is here no longer. Or can you not see that the swamp has claimed all that was once in this place?"

"Or someone…" I muttered pointedly, watching warily as a figure emerged from the shadows. She was tall and slim, almost lanky, but she carried herself with the grace of a wolf. Her hair was the colour of midnight and elaborately arranged in some sort of strange coif. Her clothes were equally bizarre, an assorted combination of fur, leather and feathers.

She smiled at us, amber eyes flashing. "I have been watching your progress since you entered the Wilds. At first I assumed you were merely here to kill darkspawn, but when your path turned to lead you here, I began to wonder about your true purpose. Why are you here? Why do you disturb ashes that have lain dormant for so long?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair hissed in my ear. "She looks like a Chassind Wilder. There are probably more nearby."

"You are afraid of barbarians, Grey Warden?" the strange woman inquired slyly. "Good thing you are only required to fight darkspawn."

"She is a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" warned Jory, his voice shaking slightly. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" laughed the woman. "Such idle fancies, those stories. Have you no mind of your own? You there," she said, turning to face me. "As a woman you should have more sense than these frightened little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"I am Feylin of the Oak Clan," I replied, feigning a small bow.

"A Dalish?" she asked with more than a hint of surprise. "Interesting… What are you doing so far from home, I wonder?"

"We agreed on exchanging names, not life stories," I replied impatiently. I was tired, hungry, and covered from head to toe in mud and blood. I just wanted to get those damned scrolls and return to camp for a nice warm meal and a hot bath. Bantering with a mad woman was the very last item on my to-do list.

"You can call me Morrigan. And as for why you are so far away from home, I believe you are searching for something that was in that chest, something that is there no longer."

"You…you stole it! You sneaky…witch…thief!" cried Alistair in sudden realisation.

"How very eloquent," muttered Morrigan dryly. "But tell me, Grey Warden, how exactly does one steal from dead men? Hmm?"

"Quite easily, it seems," retorted Alistair. "Those documents belong to the Grey Wardens. I suggest you hand them over."

"I will not, for it was not I who removed them. Invoking a name that means nothing here will not help you get what you want – you cannot threaten me."

"Who removed them then?" I asked, stepping in front of Alistair to prevent him charging up the hill at Morrigan.

She smiled. "It was my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" gasped Alistair. "What is this? Some family conspiracy?"

"Can you take us to her?" I pressed impatiently, before Morrigan could respond. Getting information from this woman was like trying to squeeze water from a rock.

"Ah, a reasonable request at last. I knew you would be the sensible one," she added with a wink as she started deeper into the fetid swamp.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" hissed Jory anxiously, bunching closer to the rest of the group as we moved to follow our new guide.

"We don't have much of a choice," I hissed back, slapping a mosquito before it had a chance to sink its stinger into my neck. It dropped lifelessly into the water and was immediately swallowed by…something. I shivered and quickened my steps, desperate to get this mission over with.

Daveth, who had remained curiously quiet throughout most of the encounter with the witch, muttered, "I don't trust her."

"She seemed friendly enough," I quipped in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, she may seem friendly now," replied Alistair, "but later…"

"What?" I asked wryly. "Turn us into mice and chop us up for her raven?"

"Something like that…"

"Greetings, mother! We have guests," called Morrigan, as we pushed our way through some tall reeds and entered a small clearing dominated by a modest hut built of wood, mud and various bits of swamp foliage. We drew to a halt in front of a bent old woman with dishevelled grey hair and darting eyes, who gave all the appearances of being half-mad, yet still managed to exude an aura of authority.

"Hmm… I see…" she mused, as she inspected us with minimal interest. "Much as I expected…"

"Wait, you're saying you were _expecting_ us?" asked Alistair in bewilderment.

"I'm not saying anything," replied the old woman cryptically. "Merely that the fates move in mysterious ways and that it takes a keen eye to discern the truth of any matter."

"Is she casting a spell, you think?" asked Jory nervously as he inched behind Daveth.

"Hardly," I muttered, stepping forward and gazing squarely at the bizarre woman. "Whether you were expecting us or not, I suspect you know why we are here, don't you?"

"Oh, she doesn't bandy about, does she?" laughed the hag, clapping her hands together. Suddenly she froze and stared at me with such intensity that it made me feel as if she was seeing straight into my soul. "You…you're different." She stepped closer until her face was barely a hair's breadth away. She smelled strongly of cabbages and mildew. I wrinkled my nose. "Yes, you're different…special," she crooned, apparently lost in her own world. "I think I believe… yes, I do…" she sung to herself, a flash of a knife appearing from the fold of her skirt.

"Umm…help?" I squeaked, trying to back away, but the woman had a surprisingly strong grip on my arm.

Before anyone had a chance to draw their swords, Morrigan stepped calmly up to her mother and whispered something in her ear. The hag blinked and suddenly she was back to normal. "Yes, I know why you are here," she said, as if her strange behaviour had never taken place. She disappeared into her house and we looked at each other uncertainly. She appeared a few moments later carrying a stained leather bag that on a quick inspection revealed to contain all four treaties. Some were a bit mouldy, but all of them were intact.

"There. You may rest assured that I have kept your precious treaties safe in the knowledge that you will come for them. Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this Blight's threat is greater than they realise."

"Kept them safe? Stole them, more like," snorted Alistair, swinging the bag over his shoulder as he turned to leave.

"Believe what you will," admonished the old woman, "but had I not done what I did, your treaties would have crumbled to dust long ago. The swamp is not the most gracious of hosts, you know," she added.

"Right, well, thanks for hanging onto them…I guess," replied Alistair begrudgingly before disappearing amongst the reeds. Jory and Daveth plunged enthusiastically after him.

"What did you mean, 'this Blight's threat is greater than they realise'?" I asked before I followed them.

"Either the threat is more, or they realise less! Or perhaps the threat is nothing. Or maybe they realise nothing!" she said, bursting into a cackle again.

_Right… Possessed by swamp fever, she is!_ I thought as I turned to follow the rest of the group out of this ridiculous place. But something about her words made me think that she was more right than any of us realised.

9


	7. The Joining

**Chapter 7 – The Joining**

"_People do not lack strength; they lack will."_

– Victor Hugo

"Finally!" cried Jory as he stumbled from the marsh onto the paved road at last, slimy water sloshing from the tops of his boots.

"You can say that again," I muttered, picking bits of cattail from my hair. I was also very much glad to be on solid ground again.

The return journey had been no stroll in the woods – we had unwittingly strayed from the near invisible path to plunge into a vast waterlogged bog that took us the better part of an hour to navigate out of. By the time we reached dry land again, all of us were cold, wet, smelly and miserable. So it was no small understatement to say that the sight of the battered towers of Ostagar was like a homecoming song to my frayed nerves and weary limbs, even though I had only been in the city for less than two days.

The day in the Wilds had tested all of us, and we were glad the ordeal was over – we each had a small bottle of 'spawn blood and we had the treaties. We were all very much looking forward to a warm dinner and a pint of ale (at least the male members of my company were; personally I could have killed for a warm bowl of nettle tea) before tipping into our bedrolls for some well-deserved rest. So it was with a festive air that we trudged the last couple of yards to the gates of crumbling city.

"Hold!" ordered Alistair, drawing us to a halt just in front of the gates amid a few grumbles of protest from Daveth who did not want to waste a second longer being apart from his well-deserved tankard of bubbly. "Before we return to civilisation again, I just wanted to say that it has been an honour and pleasure slogging through the Wilds with you and, no matter what happens at the Joining, I believe all three of you would make the Grey Wardens proud. And, as a sign of appreciation for your hard work, the Order will be paying for the first round."

"Just the first?" complained Daveth. "Surely we deserve more rewarding than that!"

"The Order is not a charitable organisation, Daveth," came the voice of Duncan from behind us. "And its members do their work not for the pursuit of glory, profit or the expectation of rewards, but because it is what they have sworn to do." Duncan cast his grey eyes around our miserable little group with severity and came to rest on Alistair. "You are late," he remarked. "I was about to go out looking for you. Did you manage to get the treaties?"

"Have them right here, sir," replied Alistair, patting the small leather bag. "Turns out they were in the possession of a witch. She was quite…strange."

"A witch?" murmured Duncan, whether in surprise or recognition I could not tell. "And the blood?"

"Each recruit managed to successfully collect his and her dose."

"Dose?" I asked, confused. "What do yo–"

"Excellent," said Duncan, clapping Alistair on the shoulder. "Then we should proceed with the Joining immediately."

"Can't it wait until…?" started Daveth, but Duncan was already marching away and we had no choice but to follow. Instead of taking us back to the camp, he led us to a secluded area where the presence of rubble and unkempt shrubbery was more prevalent. From amid the desolation reared mighty columns and archways, as if in defiance of the humbling effects of the passage of time and weather. As soon as I stepped onto the cracked and lacklustre flagstones I felt a strange energy pulsate through me that made it clear that we had entered a sacred place. Silent statues watched our nervous progress to the centre of the structure where a lone altar stood bearing a simple chalice and a long curving knife.

"What's the meaning of this?" cried Jory, balking at the threshold as if stepping into the temple would seal his doom. "Are they going to _sacrifice _us?" his voice trembled on the verge of sudden hysteria.

"Come on, ser knight!" said Daveth cheerfully, clapping the knight on the shoulder. "Do you really think they would put us through everything we had endured today with the intention of killing us?"

"No, I suppose not," mumbled Jory as he reluctantly stepped onto the stones. "But why do they have a knife then?"

"Probably to swear some kind of blood oath to the Order," shrugged Daveth, looking in confirmation to Alistair, who remained uncharacteristically silent as we gathered around the altar.

"Is that really necessary…?"

"Most likely it's another one of those strange Grey Warden traditions. They seem to have a whole sackload of those! In any event, I doubt we have anything to worry about. I mean, we've come this far, right?"

"Yes, you have come far," boomed Duncan, appearing suddenly from the shadows to stand on the far side of the altar. "But your journey is only just about to begin. The road stretching before you is one filled with death and darkness and you must be in possession of all your wits if you hope to survive the coming Blight.

"You have already proven your martial abilities; otherwise you would not have been recruited by the Order. But before being admitted as a true Grey Warden, all three of you must pass one final test." He motioned for us to come forward. "Pour your vials of blood into this chalice and use the knife to draw your own blood." We did as he asked, watching as our blood dripped slowly into the cup to mix with that of the darkspawn. Daveth winked at Jory, who responded with a nervous smile.

"I will not lie," continued Duncan when we had finished. "We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. And fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later. This final trial will test not your physical strength, but rather the strength of your will. For without an unshakable resolve a Grey Warden is just another man; it is the strength of his will that sets him apart from others," he declared decisively, taking a small vial of liquid so dark it was almost black and emptying its contents into the chalice. Holding the cup out in front of him, he continued, "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, so we shall do also by drinking the blood of the darkspawn and mastering their taint."

"What?!" exploded Daveth.

"We're going to drink the blood of those…those _things_?" asked Jory in disbelief.

I merely stood in shocked silence. In hindsight, I should have figured this one out. There had been so many clues along the way, but I guess my mind had just refused to put the pieces of the puzzle together because the implications were just too horrible to contemplate.

"Yes," continued Duncan, stepping around the altar, chalice in hand. "The blood is the source of our power and our victory. It allows us to sense the darkspawn, and to slay an archdemon. Those who survive the Joining become immune to their taint."

"Those who _survive_?" squeaked Jory, eyes white with fear. "You mean…not everyone does?"

"It is the price we pay," replied Duncan sadly. "This is why we must keep the Joining ritual a secret."

"We have no choice about this?" protested Jory. "I…I have a wife back home. She is expecting a child, you know…Her name is Sara," he explained, his eyes darting around in search of sympathy.

"There is no turning back now, ser knight," answered Duncan. "In these uncertain times, we must all make sacrifices."

"No…" whimpered Jory, backing away. "No!" he said more forcefully, gaining confidence in his conviction. "You ask too much! I will not do this! I will not sacrifice my life for some mad Order when I have a wife and child to look after."

"Then you give me no choice," said Duncan quietly, drawing his sword and advancing forward.

"What are you doing?" cried Daveth as he tried to rush forward in aid of his friend, but Alistair stepped into his path. Daveth struggled but Alistair was the stronger and so we were forced to watch helplessly as Duncan raised his sword.

"I am sorry, Ser Jory," said Duncan as plunged the length of cold steel into the knight's heart. We stared in horrified silence as Jory fell to the floor with a gurgle, blood bubbling from his lips. Turning around to gaze at us sombrely, his armour splattered red, Duncan said, "The Joining is not yet over. You have been called upon to submit yourself to the greater good. Will you do what is necessary?"

Daveth and I nodded mutely, the sight of Jory's blood seeping over the cracked stones making it very clear what fate awaited us if we chose to disobey. I felt myself trembling as I turned back to the altar.

"Step forward, Daveth," said Duncan, raising the chalice and handing it over. "Very few words are said at a Joining, but these words have been spoken since the first. Alistair, would you?"

Alistair looked surprised, as if shaken from a reverie. Clearing his throat, he intoned, "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

I saw Daveth glance uncomfortably at the prone form of Jory, a testament to how seriously the Grey Wardens took their oaths and obligations. "Here's to the Grey Wardens then," he saluted wryly before lifting the chalice to his lips.

At first nothing happened. I was just on the verge of thinking that maybe the threat of death was just some ploy the Order had concocted for its own purposes when suddenly Daveth turned deathly pale and he began to choke. It was a wretched sound, almost inhuman in its misery. The chalice tumbled from his hands, its vile contents thrown over the stones. Grabbing at his throat, he began to twitch unnaturally, as if he were being animated by an unseen force. Then, with a shocked wheeze, his body collapsed and he was still.

"I am sorry, Daveth," murmured Duncan, closing his eyes in lament. "Welcome to the Order, Feylin of the Oak Clan."

At first I thought I had misheard him. Then, as the meaning of the words sank in, I stared at Duncan with surprise, disbelief, then anger. "So this was just some silly game of elimination? The last one standing gets to join the Order?" I asked coldly.

"Hardly," replied Duncan. "The Joining is a sacred ritual that has been practiced by the Order for more than a thousand years. It is not a game."

"Then why do I not need to drink?"

"Because you already have."

"What?" I gasped, refusing to believe it. "When?"

"The night of your friend's memorial service. I fed you the darkspawn blood after I hauled you away from the pyre in an attempt to save your life. At first I thought I had been too late, but after four days you managed to overcome the taint. A true miracle. And a feat that earned you entry into the Order."

I thought back to the night in question, but all I could remember were dancing shadows and the strange pull of a dark, velvety voice. But then I remembered the conversation after I had come to: Duncan told me that he had been forced to take certain 'measures'… Was this what he had been referring to – the darkspawn blood used in the Joining ritual? Surely not… Then I remembered something else he had said. _What matters is that the taint has been contained._ Duncan had been very careful with his phrasing, at the time I thought he had meant 'for now', but apparently he had really meant 'for good'. Then there was my bizarre experience in the Wilds where I had known, with absolute conviction, that there were darkspawn over the next hill. Is this what Duncan and Alistair had meant when they said that Grey Wardens had the ability to sense darkspawn?

"Then why did I have to go through all of this?" I asked, gesturing at the carnage around us. "Couldn't you have just told me?"

"It was necessary that you understood the gravity of your responsibilities; not only to the Order, but also to yourself. As I said before, the true measure of a Grey Warden is the strength of his will, not the strength of his arm. You needed to understand its importance…by witnessing what happens when we lose it. A Grey Warden without the power of will to do what is necessary is no Grey Warden at all. This you must never forget."

"So Daveth and Jory were just _examples_ you used to teach me a lesson?" I asked, dismayed. "You knew they were going to die?"

"No, I did not," replied Duncan. "I had hoped they would learn to become masters of their will – that is the purpose of the tests. But, alas, it seems that they did not learn their lessons in time. Jory could not overcome his fear and Daveth could not overcome his ego. But I would have never recruited them had I not thought that they possessed the potential to do so."

I was speechless. I stared first at Duncan, then the bodies of Daveth and Jory, and finally at Alistair. He gazed back at me sadly but steadily. "You were in on this too." It came out more as an accusation than a question.

"This is the first I am hearing of it," he said. "Though I began to suspect out in the Wilds. Duncan must have believed you to be really special if he was willing to flout the conventions of the Order to save you."

I did not know what to say. So without really thinking about it, I turned and stumbled from the temple. I wandered for a while under the moonlight, not really knowing or caring where I was going, just wanting to get as far away as possible from what had happened and my turbulent emotions.

I was angry with Duncan for leading me along and for what had happened to Daveth and Jory. Even though they had their faults, both of them were good men and would have made honourable Grey Wardens. They had not deserved to die, especially not Jory. I was berating myself for not doing anything to help them. Now, in addition to Tamlen's, I had their blood on my hands as well. I also felt guilty because I lived while others died. But most of all I was scared about what I had gotten myself into. As Duncan had made explicitly clear, there was no turning back anymore. I was now a Grey Warden, whether I liked it or not…

And at the moment I was not liking it one bit.

Sighing, I took bearing of my surroundings and found that I had wandered to the crumbling bridge I had crossed on my first day at Ostagar. Even though it was only yesterday, it felt like an age had passed since I had stood at the other end, anxious yet optimistic about the future. I was still anxious, but my optimism had been shattered. My happy-go-lucky attitude was gone, replaced by an unshakable feeling of dread that weighed at my consciousness like a stone and made me question whether it was worth continuing down the path I had been forced to start on that day when Tamlen and I entered the cave. So much had happened since then that I had realised I had not even had the chance to mourn my friend properly.

Sinking down to my knees, I took my mother's knife in my hand and made a cut on my hand. I waited for the blood to well up before smearing it over my face. With my other hand I grabbed a handful of dirt and sprinkled it into my hair as I began to sing:

"_Now that the time has come_

_Soon gone is the day_

_There upon some distant shore_

_You'll hear me say_

_Long as the day in the summer time_

_Deep as the wine dark sea_

_I'll keep your heart with mine._

_Till you come to me._

_There like a bird I'd fly_

_High through the air_

_Reaching for the sun's full rays_

_Only to find you there_

_And in the night when our dreams are still_

_Or when the wind calls free_

_I'll keep your heart with mine_

_Till you come to me"_

I suddenly sensed eyes on me and whirled around to find Alistair leaning against a pillar, watching me intently.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked suspiciously. I was angry at myself for not having heard his approach and embarrassed that he had seen me in such a private and unguarded state.

"Not too long," he said. After a pause he added, "That was beautiful."

His compliment made me blush, and I was glad it was dark and that my face was covered in blood. "Did Duncan tell you to follow me?"

"No. I just figured after all the excitement of today, you would be hungry," he said, tossing me a small sack that I found contained a loaf of bread and several apples. Upon the sight of food, my stomach emitted a loud rumble. Tearing into the bread, I crammed a large chunk of it into my mouth with relish. "That's another thing you're going to have to get used to," he added, coming to sit next to me.

"Wha-?" I mumbled, my mouth full of food.

"Insatiable hunger. Something about the 'spawn blood makes us always feel hungry."

I nodded silently, still chewing on my food. This explained why I had been on a constant lookout for food since leaving home.

We sat for a while in silence, contemplating the day's events. Eventually Alistair said, "Only one died during my Joining, but it was still horrible. I'm sorry you had to witness two deaths. I know you are angry with Duncan, but eventually you will forgive him. He was only doing what had to be done."

"By killing an unarmed man in cold blood?" I asked, glancing sceptically at Alistair, wondering whether he believed what he was saying or merely reiterating dogma.

"It may seem like that, but no," he replied. "The Joining must be kept secret. If the Chantry and the Mages found out that we drank darkspawn blood, they would not hesitate to label us as 'abominations' and proceed to exterminate us. The Grey Wardens have enough enemies as it is without the Circle and the Mages breathing down our necks. Duncan was only doing what he had to in order to protect the Order."

I mulled that over for a while. The way Alistair explained it, it made sense. But that did not mean I agreed with it. And it had completely altered my perception of Duncan. I had previously thought him to be a solid and dependable man, but now he had revealed a much darker side of himself – one that did not hesitate to kill in the name of an Order that I was now a part of. Though if what Alistair said was true, then I suppose that, indirectly, Duncan was protecting me, along with the rest of the Grey Wardens…which made him an honourable man. I shook my head in exasperation. The ethics of the situation were too convoluted for me to think about.

"We should head back to camp," Alistair said softly. "Cailan is holding a war meeting and the Grey Wardens are expected to attend."

I gave him a look that said _Do I really have to?_ which made him laugh. It was a rich sound, full of warmth and it made me smile as well. I pulled myself to my feet and took a deep breath. "Let's go then," I said, about to set off.

"Umm…"

"What?"

Alistair motioned to my face and I remembered that it was still covered in blood. I realised that it probably would not bode well for my reputation if I showed up at an important meeting covered in blood and smelling of swamp and death. Unfortunately, there were no convenient bathing places nearby, and, by all accounts we were in the middle of a war, so I simply said, "They are grown men. They can deal with it," before marching off in the direction of the camp, leaving Alistair with a shocked expression on his face.

7


	8. At the King's Command

**Chapter 8 – At the King's Command**

"Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die."

– _The Charge of the Light Brigade_ by Lord Tennyson

As we approached the tent where the war council was being held, we could hear that the meeting was already in full swing. Raised voices, gauntleted fists thumping the table, the erratic shuffling of papers and things being knocked over all mixed together in an unmistakable indication that male hackles were raised.

"No, Loghain," stated Cailan firmly, his voice drifting towards us through the tent flap. "I have made my decision. I will stand by the…" He paused as he heard us enter. Everyone else in the tent turned to look as well, the heated debate momentarily forgotten as everyone paused to assess us newcomers.

Looking around, I could see that the small tent was filled to the brim with armoured men. A few people I recognised: Cailan was standing at the head of a long wooden table, dressed in polished battle armour that shone like molten gold in the light of the flickering candles. To his left sat Duncan, looking tired, and to the king's right stood Teyrn Loghain, his hawkish face pulled into a sneer of irritation. Sitting amid a crowd of stern looking men who I assumed to be generals and commanders, was the dishevelled looking mage Alistair had been arguing with yesterday. Recognising him, the mage gave my fellow Warden a cold look before fixing his eyes firmly into the distance. But it was at the sight of me that all their faces changed to reveal looks of surprise or shock. Whether it was because of my strange appearance or because I was the only woman at the meeting, I did not know. I suspected it was both.

"Ah, more Wardens," growled Loghain in distaste as Alistair and I took up places at the far end of the tent. "Just what we need…"

"Glad you could join us!" greeted Cailan warmly. "Ah, the new recruit I met on the road!" he exclaimed, recognising me, despite the fact that my face was smeared with blood, which the king chose not to comment about. "I understand congratulations are in order. You must be proud to have become a true Grey Warden at last."

I didn't know what to say, so I nodded noncommittally. I wasn't sure yet whether I liked being a Grey Warden, after what had happened at the Joining. But this was not the place to mention such things.

"We need every man we can get," continued the king. With a pointed look at Loghain he added, "And we always need more Grey Wardens. You should be honoured to have joined their ranks. In fact, I was just telling everyone how I will be standing with you during the coming battle. We shall be the first to face the horde and defeat it!"

"With all due respect your Majesty," interjected Loghain, his grey eyes not leaving me, "the darkspawn horde is too great and dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines. Surely the task is better left to…"

"Nonsense!" scoffed the king. "The Grey Wardens are the best we've got and I intend to stand with them. A true king must show that he is unafraid to march with his men into the heat of battle." His emerald eyes locked with Loghain's, making it clear that his decision was final.

Loghain was nevertheless about to protest, but a voice cut him off. "If the Teyrn is so concerned about the king's safety, then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to arrive," suggested a man near the middle of the table.

"We do _not_ need those back-stabbing scum!" bit out Loghain, fixing his fury-filled eyes on the man who had spoken. It was clear they had been over this argument many times. "After everything they did to us, you want us to _invite _them back to Ferelden? So they could finish what they started? Never!"

"Our quarrels with the Orlesians are a thing of the past, Loghain," chided the king.

"Believe what you will, Cailan, but if it were up to me, I would gather every men we've got to march on Val Royeaux this very moment and raze it to the ground, the Blight be damned."

"Good thing it's not up to you then," came the level reply. Loghain's eyes blazed with vehemence, but he said nothing. Cailan looked calmly around the room. Many of the lords and generals were fidgeting uncomfortably at the heated exchange between the king and the teyrn. "Duncan," invited the king, his eyes coming to rest of the Grey Warden. "You have been unusually quiet. What are your thoughts?"

For a long time Duncan said nothing. Everyone waited anxiously, knowing that whatever the Grey Warden said, it was likely to decide the outcome of the meeting. "The horde grows larger with each passing day. By now they look to outnumber us at least two to one," he said at last. "Logic therefore dictates that we should wait for the Orlesian reinforcements, but I do not think we have that luxury. The longer we delay, the stronger the horde will grow."

"It is settled then," declared Cailan. "We will follow Loghain's plan, as already discussed. At first light, the Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn into charging our lines. When they do, the beacon for the Tower of Ishal will be lit, signalling the Teyrn's men to charge from cover and flank the horde."

"Who shall light the beacon?" asked one of the generals.

"It is not a dangerous task, but it is vital if our strategy is to succeed," explained Cailan. "Alistair and the new Grey Warden will ensure that it is done."

I blinked in surprise. But I did not argue, glad of the fact that I will not have to be standing in the front lines. A great weight, which I had not realised had settled on me, was now lifted. I found myself breathing a little easier.

"Your Majesty," came the nasally voice of the dishevelled mage. "The beacon and the Wardens are quite unnecessary. The Circle of Magi can…"

"Silence, mage!" snapped a steely female voice. All the heads turned to look at a stern faced woman with greying hair, whom I had previously missed because she was sitting in a dark corner of the tent. "We will not trust any lives to spells, so you can save your incantations for the darkspawn."

"That is the Revered Mother," whispered Alistair in my ear. "She is the representative of the Chantry. She also happens to be the Circle's worst nightmare."

"How so?" I asked softly. I was still trying to come to grips with all the nuances of the factional power-mongering that these humans seemed to take for granted.

"How would you feel if you had a micro-managing matriarch watching your every move and threatening to spank you every time you stepped out of line?" I stifled a giggle.

Turning back to the meeting, I could see that the mage's eyes were blazing with contempt at being interrupted by the Revered Mother, but his retort was drowned by a hubbub of sudden discussion.

"Enough!" shouted Cailan, silencing everyone instantly. "We stick to the plan. The Wardens will light the beacon. Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Your Majesty should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing," said Duncan.

"Archdemon?" snipped Loghain. "If there really was a _dragon_ out in the Wilds, my men would have reported it."

"There is an Archdemon behind these attacks," maintained Duncan. "Of this I am certain."

"Then I am sure the Grey Wardens can take care of it. That is why you are here after all, is it not?" asked Cailan.

"Yes, your Majesty. Of course," replied Duncan, bowing his head.

"You rely too much on the Grey Wardens, your Majesty," muttered Loghain, still very much in an argumentative mood. "Your fascination with glory and legends will one day be your undoing."

"Oh, enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain," sighed Cailan in exasperation. Turning to address the rest of the group, he said, "It is settled then. We attack at first light and Ferelden shall stem the tide of this evil once and for all. I, for one, cannot wait for that glorious moment!"

"Yes," muttered Loghain, so low that I almost missed it. "I am certain it will be a glorious moment for all of us."

"Excellent!" cried the king. Turning to address the generals, he said, "Go and gather your men. The night is already half over and I want everyone ready before dawn. We do not want to keep the darkspawn waiting, do we?" he asked with a wink.

Everyone nodded, some more confidently than others. Then, with the scrape of chairs and the creaking of armour, the men disappeared to rally the troops. Loghain gave us a look that could have frozen ice as he marched from the tent. Cailan rolled his eyes.

"Don't mind him," he said, pausing at the tent flap. "He always gets irritable before a battle. But he is one of our best commanders in the field, so we have to put up with him." He gave us another wink before he too disappeared into the night.

An uncomfortable silence descended. I could see Duncan wanted to say something, but I was still too riled up about what had happened at the Joining to want to speak to him. Alistair was busy fiddling with a belt buckle. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, I heard Duncan get up from his chair and come to stand in front of me.

"Feylin," he said gently, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I know you have many misgivings about the past couple of days. But I hope that in time you will come to realise that there was nothing you could have done for Daveth, Jory or Tamlen. We are each masters of our own fate and what happened to them was ultimately in their hands; not yours."

"You are saying that they _chose_ to die?" I asked incredulously.

"No. I am saying that you cannot blame yourself for deaths you did not cause. To do so is to carry a burden that you do not deserve."

"But to cause a death through inaction is the same as causing a death through action. The end result is still death."

"That may be. But I think what is upsetting you most is whether or not there was anything you _could_ have done differently, either through action or inaction, to change the end result. And I think the answer to that is no."

I glared at Duncan angrily, hot tears springing to my eyes. I didn't want to believe what he said, even though I felt the truth of his words resonate within me. But I could not bring myself to deal with that now. The memories were still too new, the emotions too raw.

"I know you may not want it, but this is for you," said Duncan, pulling out a silver chain with a crystal pendant attached to it. Holding it up to the torch light, I could see there was some kind of a dark liquid inside. "Each Warden has one to remind him of those who did not make it this far. I hope you will wear it."

I nodded, tucking the chain into a pocket.

"Now," continued Duncan, "you have been set an important task. You should gather any supplies you deem necessary and make your way to the Tower of Ishal to await our signal. If you are quick, you may be able to get a couple of hours sleep before the start of the battle."

"Don't you want us with you in the field?" asked Alistair. "The more Grey Wardens the better?"

"No," came the stern reply. "You were chosen for this by the king, and you will do as he says. If you are needed, we will send word. But I do not want any heroics from either of you."

"Yes, sir," acquiesced Alistair, somewhat dourly.

"I must go and prepare the others. Good luck to you. You are both Grey Wardens now; I hope you understand what that means." And with a curt nod, Duncan left the tent as well.

Alistair sighed. "Some task they set us, huh? A mindless grunt could light that beacon. Do I look like a mindless grunt to you?"

"At least we're not on the front lines," I replied. As much as I wanted to kill darkspawn, I was in no hurry to put myself in front of a charge that I was more likely than not to die in as the first wave hit. They did not call it the 'killing ground' for nothing. "Come on," I said, stepping outside to find that the night sky had become overcast. "Let's go find some more food."

We moved quickly through the camp, now enlivened with nervous energy. Commanders were shouting orders or barging into tents to wake up the last of those who still managed to sleep despite the noise. Elsewhere, men and women were strapping on armour, sharpening swords, stocking arrows or saddling horses. Everywhere I looked, a hubbub of focused activity was taking place.

Which is why I noticed him.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, he looked so out of place, sitting forlornly on a crate, his head resting heavily in one hand. His gaze was directed at something behind a haphazardly made wooden fence.

"Hold on a second, will you?" I said to Alistair. Before he could reply, I was jogging towards the man. "Is everything alright?" I asked as I approached. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the battle?"

"Yes, I suppose I should. But I just can't bear to leave him like this. He's in so much pain."

"Who is?" I asked, peering over the fence in an attempt to discern the shadowy form that was the object of the man's attentions. "What is that?"

"Is that a Mabari hound?" asked Alistair, joining us. "I have never seen one so big."

"Aye," replied the man. "One of the finest ones I have seen. Which is why I am so reluctant to put him down."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Alistair, peering over the fence as well.

"Swallowed some 'spawn blood during the last raid. Was trying to defend his master, but, alas, the man did not survive the battle. Now it looks like he won't either."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" I asked, looking at the prone form of the hound. I had never seen such a creature before, but it bore some resemblance to a wolf. And I had never thought that such animals could be companions in war, but upon reflection, it made sense. Wolves were apt at killing their prey, so why could that prey not be humans or darkspawn?

"Not much apart from ending the poor beast's misery," the man replied dejectedly. "Shame. But I suppose there isn't much else to do…"

"Wait," said Alistair as the man reached for his knife. "I know of a plant that may be of use. I'll go see if the mages have any. Trust me, they always have random junk like that lying around."

I watched Alistair sprint off into the night. Turning back to the man, I asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, if you are not afraid of being bit, you could muzzle him while we wait for your friend to get back. I hear you're the new Grey Warden recruit and they are immune to the taint. I would do it myself but…"

"You don't want to turn into a mindless minion," I replied dryly.

"Well, yes," he replied. "I'm Kanton, by the way. Master of the Kennels."

"Feylin," I replied, bowing. "Of the Oak Clan."

"A Dalish, eh? Haven't seen one of your kind in an age. What made you choose to join the Wardens?"

"Wasn't much of a choice," I replied sombrely.

"Ah, forgive me. I didn't mean to pry. Here's the muzzle."

Accepting a strange leather contraption which, based on its name, I guessed would go over the face of the hound, I opened the fence and stepped inside. Upon my approach, the Mabari raised his head and assessed me with intelligent eyes. "_Dé'a atha_," I murmured in Dalish. _It's alright_. The hound whined softly and stretched forward to sniff me. I held very still, waiting to see what would happen next. The beast was massive, about a hand taller than a wolf and more powerfully muscled. I was willing to bet that its mouth contained razor sharp teeth that could take my hand off in a single bite. But I was pleasantly surprised when instead of biting me, it decided to give my fingers a gentle lick.

"Well, I say," murmured Kanton contemplatively. "I have never seen a hound imprint on someone so quickly."

"Imprint?" I asked in puzzlement as I slipped the muzzle over the dog's head.

"You don't choose a Mabari," he replied. "A Mabari chooses you. It's called imprinting. Means he will stay by your side so long as either of you are alive. Mabaris are fiercely loyal and will defend you to the death if needs be."

"Oh," was all I could say as I stroked the beast's fur reassuringly. I had heard of such bonds before. In the old days, before the fall of Arlathan, some Keepers had animal companions with whom they could communicate in a language known only to them. I had never thought that I would have such an honour.

"Told you one of the spark-shooters would have it!" came Alistair's triumphant voice. "Took all of my irresistible charm, but in the end I was able to convince a surprisingly nice mage by the name of Wynne to part with her stash."

"Excellent!" cried the Kennel Master in relief. "How does it work?"

"The mage said to grind it up into a paste and mix it with his food. If the beast is not too far gone, you should be able to see results in about a day or so," Alistair replied. "I see you have made a new friend," he observed, leaning over the fence.

"Apparently he has imprinted on me," I replied, still a bit dazed by the fact.

Alistair's eyes opened wide. "Really? That is quite a feat you managed to pull off. Normally, when a Mabari's master dies, it is very difficult to get him to accept a new one. Many people end up having to put those animals down because they refuse to respond to anyone else. Let's hope the poor beast survives the night so you can experience all the joys of owning a hound."

"The medicine is ready," announced Kanton. "Try to feed it to him," he encouraged, passing me a bowl filled with minced meat. "You may need to be a bit forceful. But he won't bite you."

"Right," I replied dubiously, taking the bowl and placing it near the Mabari's nose. He sniffed at the food but then proceeded to ignore it. I pushed the bowl closer, telling him to eat, but with no result. I sat back on my heels, wondering what to do, when I suddenly remembered how mothers of the clan would wean their babies off milk by hand-feeding them mushed food. I proceeded to knead the meat with my fingers until it became a paste. Scooping a bit up with my finger, I offered it to the Mabari. This time, after a second of hesitation, he licked my finger, taking the food in the process.

"Great job, lass!" congratulated Kanton. "Keep it up!"

It took a long time, but eventually the bowl became empty and the Mabari, after giving me one more affectionate lick, dozed off.

"I'm truly grateful for your help," said the Kennel Master, clapping me on the shoulder. "Without you, the poor beast would have just been tossed in a ditch somewhere. But thanks to you, he not only lives to fight another day, but also has a new master, which, for a Mabari, is more important than life in some ways. So, thank you."

"Don't mention it," I replied, touched by man's gratitude.

"We should get going," said Alistair, glancing at the horizon. "Dawn is getting near and we need to get to that tower."

"Of course," acknowledged Kanton. "Don't let me keep you. I will seek you out tomorrow if the hound survives the night."

_And if we survive the night,_ I thought ominously as I hurried to catch up with Alistair. We moved quickly through a now empty camp. Ducking into the supplies tent, we picked up some first aid kits, healing potions and some food, along with a fire-starting kit. In the corner where the now-empty weapons-racks stood, I also found a well-made bow which had been knocked down into the dirt and forgotten, along with a quiver of arrows. It may not be my father's bow, but Creators-knew when I would next come across another.

"Let's go find this Tower then," I said, stepping out into a pre-dawn drizzle and slinging the bow over my shoulder.

We hurried across the bridge along with a couple of stragglers making their way towards the East Gate. As we drew nearer to the battlements leading to the tower, we could hear that the battle was already under way even though the sky was only just beginning to lighten. The clang of swords mixed with the scream of the dying and the holler of commands. The resulting cacophony turned my stomach.

"They will be fine," reassured Alistair as we climbed the narrow stairs leading to the ramparts. "The king has amassed some of the finest soldiers of the realm. I'm sure they can handle a couple of darkspawn."

"Sounds like more than just a couple," I replied quietly. "And the attack came earlier than we thought."

Alistair merely nodded, his mouth tightening into a thin line. After a moment he said, "Come. The Tower is at the other end of th–"

I pulled Alistair down just in time to avoid a massive boulder flattening him. The rock sailed past our heads and crashed with a mighty crack onto the stone below, kicking up a plume of dust. We got unsteadily to our feet.

"Th-thanks," stammered Alistair, his voice weak. I merely nodded in acknowledgement, too shaken to speak. "I didn't think they would have siege weapons," he admitted, peering into the din below. Another stone thudded into the wall, making what previously seemed like impregnable stonemasonry quiver like a leaf. Once the spasms have subsided and we regained our balance he said, "We should move quickly. Keep low and pray to whatever gods you believe in."

I nodded again, and taking a deep breath to calm my fluttering heart, began to sprint across the wall. Dodging panicked and dazed soldiers, some crushed beneath rubble, I concentrated on my target, letting all sounds and other distractions fade away. Just as if I were aiming an arrow, the only thing I was aware of was the steady thumping of my heart and the rasp of my breathing. In fact, so intent was I on running that I did not sense the darkspawn until I had already crashed into it, causing both of us to sprawl across the uneven stones. It recovered faster than I did and would have hacked off my head had it not been blasted squarely in the chest by a fiery blue light.

Looking up, I could see the dishevelled mage from the war council staring at me with a look of shock that quickly turned into disdain. "I suppose I should thank you for distracting that loathsome Hurlock, but to be honest I could have dealt him without your impromptu intervention."

I rolled my eyes as I pulled myself to my feet to see that Alistair has also made it across and was in the process of helping an armed soldier dispatch the last of the 'spawn. "What happened here?" I asked, surveying the carnage. "How did the darkspawn break through?"

"They came up through the lower chambers," seethed the mage. "Caught us off guard as we were making our way to the battlements. They seem to have taken the Tower as well."

"What?" I cried. I rushed over to Alistair and quickly explained what happened. He looked as unnerved as I felt.

"We need to get inside and light the beacon immediately. If the darkspawn have managed to infiltrate the Tower, who knows where else they may be."

I nodded, wondering how Duncan and the others were fairing out in the field. This battle was not going according to plan.

"Oh, it's you again," sneered the mage as he recognised Alistair. "Is there no room on the battlefield for you and your ill-conceived witticisms?"

"On the contrary," replied Alistair, sheathing his bloodied sword, "the management has decided, due to the deplorable lack of wit to be had here, that the presence of some Wardens was required. In fact, we _were_ going to help you rid this tower of darkspawn, but since our methods don't seem to be satisfactory to you, we could always take our swords elsewhere."

"No, wait!" cried the mage in sudden panic. He composed himself quickly, "I mean…"

"What he means is that any help we can get is greatly appreciated," interjected a rough-looking soldier whom I recognised as the man from the war council who had suggested that we wait for the Orlesian forces. "Commander Warren," he said by way of introduction, clasping hands with Alistair. "I'm in charge of this disorganised rabble here. I hope you two know a thing or two about dispatching darkspawn because these boys sure as hells don't!"

"What do you know about the situation inside?" asked Alistair, slipping into the leadership persona that I recognised from the Wilds the morning before. Had it really been only the morning before? So much seems to have happened since then…

"…so far as I could tell, the vermin have overrun the first floor of the tower." Warren was saying. "Killed all the guards inside and were in the process of dispatching the sentries when I arrived."

"What about the other levels?" I asked, refocusing myself to the task at hand. "We need to get inside and light the beacon."

"I don't know, but we should prepare for the worst," replied the Commander grimly.

And the worst was what we got. Upon entering the Tower we were greeted by the grizzly sight of dismembered soldiers lying in their own blood. But it seemed that not only had they been killed, but they had been…fed upon. Blood splattered the walls and torn-up body parts littered the floor.

"That is foul," spat Warren in disgust. Behind him, one of the soldiers retched loudly.

"When we've cleared the Tower, we should come back and burn the bodies," said Alistair quietly. "Otherwise we may have even more 'spawn on our hands."

"Seems like the Chantry got something right, after all," observed the mage. "I had always thought that drivel about unburnt bodies getting possessed by demons was just that…drivel."

"You learn something new every day," I muttered in response. The mage cast me a stormy look but said nothing as we moved cautiously into the main hall.

"W-where are they?" whispered one of the soldiers nervously.

"Maybe the ones we killed in the courtyard were all of them," replied one of his companions hopefully.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," warned Alistair. "There's more. A lot more."

I nodded in agreement. I could feel them too. Their presence was like a swirling mass of ants within my consciousness, irritating my mind and making my stomach turn. "They're just up ahead. I think they're…eating?"

"Surely not more…humans?" breathed one of the soldiers, turning a pale shade of green.

"Whatever they're doing, it's time to break this rabble up," grunted Warren, slamming his visor down. "Alright, men. Arms at the ready!"

We burst into the main hall and managed to catch the 'spawn by surprise. Most of them got hacked down before they even had time to drop whichever piece of human they were feeding upon. A few of them reached feebly for their weapons, but the soldiers were so intent on staying alive that they easily overwhelmed any resistance they met.

"Good job, lads!" congratulated Commander Warren, wiping his gory sword on the tunic of one of the 'spawn corpses. "It appears you have got balls, after all."

"That seemed a bit too easy," I muttered to Alistair as I watched the soldiers rejoicing in their victory.

"I was thinking the same," he replied. "I doubt the next level will be such a stroll in the park."

"Alright, you two?" asked Warren as he came over to join us. "You don't look too pleased."

"This battle is far from over," explained Alistair. "We managed to take this group by surprise, but I think we made enough noise to alter the others of our presence. They will be waiting for us on the next level."

Warren considered him for a moment and then gave a deft nod. "Alright, men!" he announced, turning to his soldiers. "You heard the Warden. The scum are waiting for us on the next floor. I say we take the initiative and meet them before they have time to properly organise themselves."

Before any of us had a chance to respond, the eager Commander was leading his group up the stairs to the next level. Alistair, the mage and I hurried to join him.

"He is going to get us all killed," seethed the mage. "That man does not know the meaning of subtlety."

"Then it is our job to make sure he doesn't do anything foolish," replied Alistair. "Feylin, you cover the charge with your bow on the left. I have heard that the Dalish never miss a shot. Ser mage, you cover from the right. I'm sure you have a couple of nasty spells up your sleeve."

"What about you?" I asked, stringing my first arrow. The curved wood left warm and sturdy in my hands. It was a good weapon that I had picked up.

"I will be in the vanguard. Trying to stop those lads from getting killed."

"Not much of a plan," muttered the mage. "But I suppose it will have to do."

We arrived at the second floor to find that the fighting was already under way. This group of darkspawn was a lot bigger and much better organised. Alistair charged in immediately to assist in the dispatching of a particularly fearsome looking specimen.

I remained in the doorway, and surveyed the scene. Most of the fighting was taking place in the centre of the room. Near the back, however, I could see a burly Hurlock shouting orders. Next to him stood an even more impressive individual who was observing the carnage in silence. They seemed to be standing behind some sort of red haze. The mage seemed to have noticed him as well, for he began to concentrate his efforts in that direction. However, his magic did not seem to have any effect; before they could reach the darkspawn, his spells fizzle out when they came into contact with the haze. I shot an arrow at the Hurlock, but it too bounced harmlessly away. I decided not to waste any more ammunition and hoped that the mage would figure out a way to break through the barrier. Instead, I concentrated on providing as much assistance to the soldiers as I could.

While they had been previously enlivened by their easy victory, many of the soldiers now seemed out of their depth, facing off against multiple opponents. Luckily, between Warren, Alistair and I, we seemed to be making progress. The two men were herding the 'spawn towards a corner where they could be more easily dispatched by the soldiers. Meanwhile, I focused on pitting as many darkspawn with arrows as I could. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the mage had finally been able to break through the magical barrier, and was in the process of facing off with the larger 'spawn. The Hurlock seemed to be preparing to charge the mage, so I directed my arrow at the weak spots of his armour. It took a fair few arrows, but eventually he too succumbed.

Soon enough, the battle was over, though not without losses on our side. As I collected any useable arrows I could find, I saw that at least five soldiers lay dead or dying amongst the bodies of the 'spawn. At such a rate, there would be none alive by the time we made it to the beacon. Warren seemed to have realised this as well. Instead of boasting about their victory, he was making his way quietly among his men, offering words of encouragement or condolences for lost friends and compatriots.

"You alright?" asked Alistair, coming to stand beside me. He was splattered in blood and did not smell too nice either. He must have noticed me wrinkling my nose for asked, "What, don't _you_ love the smell of fresh 'spawn in the morning?"

"Technically it isn't morning yet," I replied dryly.

He leant in close and confided with a grin, "You'll still be smelling this in the morning."

I rolled my eyes at him, but couldn't resist a small smile.

"If you too love birds have finished coddling, I suggest you get a move on," clipped the dishevelled mage as he marched past us. "Unless you think that beacon will just light itself."

"Isn't it so nice to see the blossoming of camaraderie in our little group?" muttered Alistair as we started moving towards the stairs.

"I don't think he knows what that means," I replied. "Though he is pretty handy in a fight. Without him, I'm not sure we would have been able to break through that magical barrier guarding the Hurlock and the wizard."

"They're called Emissaries. They are tough, intelligent and some of them even know a thing or two about blood magic, which is what you were observing."

"Blood magic?" I asked, surprised. "You mean…"

"Yeah," came the reply to my unfinished question. "The Chantry have been trying to stamp out the practice in Thedas for centuries, even going as far as to ban anatomical studies. Of course, their educational efforts have failed to win over the darkspawn audience."

By now we had reached the third level. We advanced cautiously, but still managed to run into another group of 'spawn. The fight was quick, but despite our best efforts, our numbers, along with our strength, were flailing. By the fourth floor, Warren's voice was going hoarse from all the shouting and his soldiers were literally fighting to stay alive. Alistair was still hefting his longsword with deft precision, but I could see sweat streaming down his neck. I wasn't fairing much better either. I had run out of arrows, my arms were aching and my hands were chaffed and stiff from gripping my blades so tightly. Somehow, I managed to keep hacking and slashing, though it felt like my weapons were guiding my motions, rather than the other way around. Only the mage appeared to be untaxed, though I could see that he was worried about the sheer number of 'spawn we were encountering.

After what seemed like a thousand years and a million darkspawn, we finally made it to the top floor. Leaning heavily against the archway supporting the great oak doors that led to the room that housed beacon, I wiped the blood and sweat from my face with the sleeve of my tunic. "So much for Duncan wanting to keep us away from the fighting," I muttered sullenly.

Alistair merely nodded. I could see that he was worried. If we were facing so many darkspawn in this tower, who knew how many were actually out in the field? But the best we could do now was light the beacon to signal Loghain's forces, and hope that his reserves would be enough to decide the battle.

"Alright, men," declared Warren, pushing himself away from the wall and drawing his sword. "Enough moping. Let's finish this job. Those darkspawn won't kill themselves."

"I wish they would," sighed Alistair. "But then being a Grey Warden would no longer be exciting."

Opening the door, however, revealed no mere darkspawn but a huge, monstrous beast with horns and razor sharp claws. I was immediately transported back to the cave with Tamlen and our encounter with the porcupine-needled-dire-bear, and hoped that this adventure would not end the say way the other one had.

"You were saying?" I squeaked as the monster dropped the darkspawn it had been feeding upon and emitted a deafening roar, spraying blood and saliva in our general direction. In two strides, it was upon us and I barely had time to dive to the side before its huge hand thudded into the ground I had been standing on with enough force to dislodge the cobblestones. One of the soldiers was not quick enough and I heard the wet sound of his skull cracking against the wall as he was thrown across the room.

Rolling to knees, I saw that Alistair and Warren were dancing circles around the beast, slicing at whichever body part came within reach, while the mage was shooting fireballs at its face. Unfortunately, this seemed to enrage the thing even more. Kicking Warren out of the way, it lunged at the mage, grabbing him by the robes and unceremoniously tearing him in two before the man had time to scream. My stomach heaved at the sight of the mutilated corpse dropping to the floor with a sickening slap barely a yard away.

With Warren incapacitated, it was only Alistair and one remaining soldiers facing off against the monster. I knew that I needed to do something quick, otherwise we would be turned into dinner. Getting to my feet, I sheathed my swords and started to inch around the room, sticking to the shadows as much as I could to avoid grabbing the monster's attention. I still had no plan of action for when I actually got near the thing, and I was desperately racking my brains for some nugget of inspiration. That was when I noticed a pile of rubble just behind the monster. Without really thinking about it, I began to sprint towards it. As my feet touched the first of the fallen slabs of basalt, I saw Alistair slip. The soldier rushed forward to assist him, but he was picked up and thrown away like a rag doll. I reached the top of the pile and launched myself through the air just as the monster was bending down towards Alistair. I landed bodily into the thing's shoulder, hard enough to knock it off balance. I desperately searched for a hand-hold as the monster tried to dislodge me from its back. For lack of a better alternative, I grabbed my mother's dagger and thrust it into the beast's spine, using it as a grappling hook. The monster reared back, roaring in pain, desperately flailing its arms in an attempt to locate me. One of its claws raked through my arm that was holding onto the dagger and I dropped to the ground with a scream of pain.

I landed with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of me. For a few seconds, all I could concentrate on was trying to catch my breath. Then I remembered the beast and Alistair, and I tried to scramble to my feet, but my vision swam and I fell back uselessly with a groan.

"I would not do that if I were you," came Alistair's voice, laying a hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I found myself looking into concerned green eyes, flecked with golden around the irises, which were staring at me out of a mask of blood.

"Is…is it dead?" I wheezed.

"Yes, thanks to you. That flying circus trick you pulled off distracted it for long enough for me to shove my sword into its jugular. Hence all the blood. Sorry if it drips on you."

"No worries," I replied, my voice a bit stronger now. Pushing myself up on an elbow, I surveyed the carnage. The monster was lying on its face in an expanding pool of its own dark blood surrounded by the bodies of our fallen comrades. "Warren?"

Alistair shook his head sadly. "His ribs got crushed. The poor fellow drowned in his own blood."

I nodded, taking in this information. "So, it's just the two of us then?"

"Looks like," replied Alistair. "You able to stand? We should light the beacon as quickly as we can, seeing how in all likelihood we already missed Duncan's signal. Oh, this is yours, I believe," he said, handing me my dagger.

Sheathing the dagger in my boot, I got a bit unsteadily to my feet, but managed to retain my balance. As soon as I took a step, however, my head began to spin and my mouth went dry. Looking down at my arm, I could see that blood was flowing freely from a massive gash that the monster's claw had left in its wake. As I peered closer, I was pretty certain I could see a hint of bone as well.

"That…does not look too good," observed Alistair, turning slightly pale. "In fact, why don't you just sit here on this nice bit of rubble while I go light the beacon," he said as he forcibly plonked me down on the nearest rock he could find. From my seat, I watched groggily as he pulled the tinder kit from his pocket and set about starting a fire in the massive brazier situated in the middle of the room. Pretty soon, a bright flame was crackling merrily.

"W-what are you doing?" I muttered as I saw him take a dagger from his boot and hold it out over the fire.

"That wound of yours is pretty serious. If we don't do something about it, you will bleed out," he explaining, taking the glowing metal from the fire. "Unfortunately, I am no medic and we have no more healing potions left, so this is the best I can do."

It took me a second, but my foggy brain finally managed to comprehend what he was suggesting. I gulped in apprehension and tried to shield my ravaged arm. "I'm sure I could…" I started, but the thud of dozens of heavy feet drew my attention from the feeble protest I was about to make.

Turning towards the doorway, I saw a large group of darkspawn enter the room. Upon seeing us, the leading Hurlock grunted out something unintelligible, and before Alistair could draw his sword, he was falling backwards as a crude-looking arrow thudded into his shoulder. I tried to rise to help him, but I was knocked over as well, skidding over the rough cobblestones. Looking down I could see two black-feathered arrows sticking out of my side.

My last thought before my mind succumbed to blackness was that after all that we had been through, this was a rotten way to die.

13


	9. Adrift

**Chapter 9 – Adrift**

"_We are all travellers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend."_ – Robert Louis Stevenson

_I was surrounded by a suffocating blackness so thick and impenetrable that I had no conception of my body. It was almost as if my consciousness existed as an independent entity, floating through this sea of darkness._

_I don't know how much time passed, or whether time even passed on this place, but suddenly the blackness seemed to divide into strands which then coalesced into an even darker form. I tried to comprehend what I was seeing, but the strands of black just seemed to dance before my eyes, snaking back and forth in some indeterminate pattern that I could not make sense of. Nevertheless, a shape slowly began to emerge from the dance of shadows. At first I could not place it, but in the pit of my stomach I felt the stirrings of a vague sense of recognition…and fear._

_I tried to run, but in this horrible place there was no conception of space and time – no matter which way I turned, I still found myself facing the now fully formed beast. It seemed to be slumbering for the moment, but I knew that soon it would wake, and then there would be no escape._

_Suddenly, its eyes opened and locked themselves onto me. I sensed amusement – amusement at the fact that a petty mortal such as I would even contemplate escape when I knew that there was no place to hide. But amusement quickly turned to rage as the blackness opened up to reveal a horrifying maw full of venomous black teeth that was closing in on me with terrifying speed…_

I woke with a start and for a moment was disoriented to find myself in a soft bed, in the corner of what seemed like a dingy hut. Sinking back onto the feather pillow, I tried to recollect my thoughts in an attempt to figure out why I was not dead and how I got here.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came the sound of a vaguely familiar voice. "Mother shall be pleased."

"You." It came out more as an accusation than a question, but my foggy brain could not seem to handle tonal nuances at the moment.

Morrigan raised a dark eyebrow, whether in offence or amusement, I could not tell. "Yes, it is I, your humble nurse. Glad to see that my curative efforts are being appreciated…"

"Sorry," I replied, throwing the covers back and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Looking down, I could see that under the thin shift I was wearing, my torso had been wrapped in a bandage, as had my ravaged arm. "As far as I was concerned, I had died. So, thanks, I guess. But how did I get here?"

"You mean you do not remember Mother's rescue?" Morrigan asked, seating herself on a nearby chair and gazing at me intently.

"Your _mother_ rescued me? From the tower?" I asked dubiously. I honestly could not see how a feeble old woman, who was no doubt slightly touched, could have battled her way through a score of darkspawn, much less could have known where we were in the first place. _Wait a minute_… 'we' – that concept seemed significant somehow… "Alistair!" I blurted, suddenly remembering all the events of last night. At least, I hoped it was last night… These frequent black-outs were seriously messing with my conception of time.

"If you are referring to your suspicious, dim-witted friend, then you need not worry," chided Morrigan. "Mother managed to rescue him as well. Though I must say that he is not taking the loss of your king too well."

"Loss of the king?" I asked, sure that I had misheard her. "But we lit the beacon. Loghain's forces should have decided the battle."

"Those forces, or rather, their absence, _did_ decide the battle," she said. "The man who was supposed to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn overran the king's army. They are feeding on their remains as we speak."

I sat still, dumbfounded by this revelation. "Were there no survivors?" I asked at last.

"None that I could see. The darkspawn were pretty thorough. Even if there were survivors, they would have moved on by now."

I nodded absently, trying to process all this new information. Looking around, I could see that a clean pile of clothes had been left on a chair next to the bed. My leathers and weapons were also stacked nearby, including a quiver full of freshly fletched arrows. Pulling a pair of roughly spun leggings towards me, I asked, "So, um… How _did_ your mother manage to get us here?"

"According to her, she turned into a large bird and plucked the two of your from that tower, one in each talon, before the darkspawn could have their way with you," she said with all seriousness. "If you ask me, she should have rescued the king. He would have been worth a lot more in ransom."

"Right…" was all I could say as I pulled a muted green shirt over my head with some difficulty. I did not really want to bother with my armour at the moment. It appeared that wherever we were, we were safe, at least for the moment. After all, Morrigan did not seem to be too concerned about the possibility of an imminent attack…

"If you don't believe me, you could always ask her," came the unconcerned reply. "Who knows? She may even tell you."

"Oh, I have many things to ask her," I replied, lacing up my boots, which I noted had been cleaned and polished. "And I expect her to provide me with answers. Where is she?"

"Outside, consoling your mopey friend," said Morrigan airily, waving towards the door of the hut.

Stepping outside, I was greeted by the dank smell of the swamp and an army of mosquitoes that instantly descended on me. Attempting to wave them away, I made my way towards Alistair, who was staring moodily into a murky pool. Without his armour on, he looked young and vulnerable and my heart instantly reached out to him. I knew all too well what it meant to lose those who were closest to you, be it friends or family.

Morrigan's mother stood close by with an exasperated expression on her face, her frail arms cross in front of her. In comparison to our last encounter, she seemed pretty normal – grandmotherly even – though her eyes still flashed with some queer light. Upon seeing me, she announced triumphantly, "See? Your fellow Grey Warden is here, fit as a fiddle. You worry too much, young man."

Turning hesitantly around, Alistair beheld me first with suspicion and then with relief. I could see dark circles under his eyes and wondered when had been the last time he had slept properly. "You're alive," he breathed, still not fully believing it. "I had thought you were dead for sure, with your arm and all. And then those darkspawn…"

"Well, here I am, thanks to Morrigan and her mother," I said, spreading my hands.

"They told me you were healing well, but they would not let me see you. I…I was worried," he admitted.

"Well, us Dalish are sturdy folk," I replied, trying to lighten the mood. I could see that he was extremely troubled by what had happened, which, to be honest, it did not make me feel too optimistic about our present situation.

"This is so unreal…" he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation. "If it weren't for Morrigan and her mother…"

"I suppose it is acceptable where you come from to talk about people as if they were not there," clipped the old woman tartly, interrupting our conversation.

"Sorry," said Alistair, actually looking apologetic. "It's just you never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," she replied unhelpfully. After a moment of consideration she added, "I suppose you can call me Flemeth. It's as good as any name in my reckoning."

Alistair's eyes opened wide. "_The_ Flemeth? From the legends? Surely you're not the infamous–"

"Witch of the Wilds?" asked Flemeth dryly. "I have been known by such a name. Still, it is of no consequence. My magic has served you both well, has it not?"

"And we are grateful for your assistance," I said quickly before Alistair could respond with something that could be construed as marginally offensive. "But why _did_ you rescue us?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "We cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying all at once, can we? If I hadn't saved you, we would have no one to unite the lands in defence against this Blight."

"But surely someone like Duncan would have been more suited to doing that. Even the king has more influence than we do," I countered. I had a nagging suspicion that the old hag was not telling us something.

The old woman peered at me with steel grey eyes. "You are Grey Wardens, are you not?" I nodded hesitantly, not sure where she was going with this. "Then you have influence. And I see your friend is still in possession of those treaties I returned to you. Surely those will be of some use."

"The treaties!" exclaimed Alistair, opening the small leather bag that was hanging on his belt. "I had completely forgotten about them. We can use these to amass a new army. Look, we have one for the dwarves, one for the Dalish, and one for the Circle of Magi. We might even be able to call on Arl Eamon in Redcliffe. He was not at Ostagar and still has his forces. He is Cailan's uncle and a respected member of the Landsmeet," he explained. "I'm sure he would be willing to give us aid as well."

"See?" said Flemeth. "Your task is not as hard as it seems."

"It would be a lot easier if we didn't have Loghain to contend with," I noted darkly. "How could he abandon the king and all those men? Is he in league with the darkspawn or something?"

"I've been thinking about that as well," admitted Alistair. "And I just don't understand it. He has been Cailan's trusted advisor for years, and he served his father, King Maric, before that. What does he have to gain from all this?"

"What does every man who has tasted power want?" offered Flemeth. "More power, of course."

"You mean he wants the crown?" gasped Alistair in disbelief. "Surely not…"

"Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature," said Flemeth. "The allure of greater power and more money will cause even the noblest of men to betray their leaders and murder their friends."

"Whatever game he is playing, Loghain obviously thinks that the darkspawn are a minor threat," I mused. "Do you remember how at the war council he scoffed at the suggestion that there is an archdemon out there?"

"Yes, I remember," said Alistair. "But it's been centuries since the last Blight. Most people will not believe that the threat is real until they find the Horde standing at their doorstep."

"It seems to me that you have many tasks ahead of you," observed Flemeth. "Raising an army, confronting this Loghain, and defeating the archdemon."

"You make it sound so easy," I muttered dryly. "Do you know how to defeat an archdemon?" I asked Alistair.

"Erm…not really," he admitted. "I suppose we will have to find out."

"Then you best get going," declared Flemeth. "The road ahead of you is long and dangerous. Which is why…"

"Mother, the stew is bubbling," announced Morrigan, poking her head out the doorway. "Will we have two guests for dinner? Or none?"

"…my daughter will be joining you."

"Such a shame…" drawled Morrigan. Then her eyes opened wide in sudden realisation. "What?!"

"You heard me, girl," clipped the old woman as Morrigan hurried outside to join us. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Don't think I haven't noticed. As for you," she said, turning to Alistair and I, "consider this as a repayment for your lives."

"Do I get no say in this?" protested Morrigan. "I am to just be traded like cattle? What if I don't want to leave? What if I'm not ready?"

"You must be ready, girl. Without your assistance, these two stand no chance in uniting the lands against the Blight. You have to go with them."

"If she really doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to…" I said, before Morrigan could retort. I remembered how I had had no choice about joining the Grey Wardens and I did not want to put Morrigan in a similarly uncomfortable situation.

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Flemeth. "Her magic is nearly as good as mine. And that's saying a lot! You will thank me later. Go, pack your things, girl."

"Erm…not to look a gift horse in the mouth," said Alistair quietly, as Morrigan marched away in a huff, "but won't the newest member of our group _add_ to our problems, rather than help solve them? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate, after all."

"If you do not wish help from us 'illegal' mages, young man, perhaps you should have voiced your protests when you were up in that tower," countered Flemeth dryly, crossing her arms.

"Point taken…" conceded Alistair grudgingly. "But when we find ourselves hounded by Templars, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'."

"Well, _I'm_ ready to leave," announced Morrigan as she reappeared from the hut with a small satchel slung over her shoulder. "Though to be honest, this was not how I imagined my inevitable flight from the nest. It is _so_ kind of you to cast me out like this, dear, sweet Mother."

"We rarely get a say when our destinies are concerned," rebuked Flemeth. "When an opportunity comes knocking, you must grab with both hands or regret the missed chance for the rest of your life." Turning to us, she said, "Which is why I suggest you get moving. You have a day, maybe two, before the Horde begins to move again. By that time you need to be as far away from here as possible. You are free to take what you need, but you need to leave soon."

Nodding our understanding, Alistair and I returned to the hut to gather our things. After lacing up my armour and securing my weapons, I picked up a slightly dusty canvas bag and threw in a loaf of dark bread, half a dozen apples, a slice of pungent yellow stuff that I remembered Duncan calling 'cheese', as well as a couple of healing potions that I spied gathering dust on a shelf. When we emerged again, I could see Flemeth and Morrigan conferring quietly, presumably saying farewell. I saw the old woman press something in the hands of her daughter, which she quickly stowed away, so I could not get a very good look at it.

"Thank you, Flemeth, for all your help," I said sincerely, when I neared them, bowing in the traditional Dalish manner. "It must be a hard choice to decide to let your daughter go."

"Pfft!" chortled the old hag. "She's a handful, that one! I'm glad to finally get her out of my hair."

"Thank you, Mother. Your maternal devotion is plain for all to see," muttered Morrigan. Turning to us, she said, "Well, Grey Wardens, it appears I am at your disposal. As our first destination, may I suggest a small village to the north of here. It is not far and has not yet been touched by the Blight, so you should be able to find most of what you need for your journey. Alternatively, I could just guide you silently…like a sniffer dog."

"We appreciate your input, Morrigan," I replied. "After all, you know this area better than we do."

She seemed to relax a bit at this, even flashing me a small smile before plunging into the tall reeds. I followed after her, with Alistair close behind. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see Flemeth gazing at us with a look of…I was not quite sure what. Sadness? Resolve? Worry? Maybe a combination of all three? I decided not to dwell too much on it. She was a strange old woman, after all.

Catching Alistair's eye, I could see that he was brooding about something. Slowing down so that I came apace with him I asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah… It's just I find it strange that we are taking an apostate with us just because her _mother_ said so."

"We need all the help we can get," I replied. "Even if it does turn out to be slightly unconventional."

"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "The Chantry's prejudices aren't something you can get out of your mind easily. We'll just need to be careful, that's all."

"Why is the Chantry so concerned about apostates?" I asked. This was something I could not quite get my head around.

"The Chantry does not like the idea of having to contend with mages it cannot control," explained Alistair. "Initially, they only concentrated on rogue mages who had fled from the Circle for one reason or another. However, with the discovery of Witches of the Wilds and the Dalish shamans – mages who were never under the Chantry's control to begin with – they became worried that the Chantry's influence was not as far reaching as they had previously thought. So they instituted a policy under which all mages who were not officially a member of the Circle were deemed to be apostates, thus avoiding the problem of having to make distinctions between the different types."

"But why does the Chantry want to have control over the mages in the first place?"

"Magic was the source of the old Tevinter Imperium's power, which, if the Chantry's version of things is to be believed, the magisters abused in order to gain entry into the Golden City of the Maker."

"Duncan told me about that," I said, remembering the strange story he had related on our journey to Ostagar. "He said that they corrupted both the City and themselves, and the Maker punished them by turning them into the first darkspawn."

"Right. So when the Chantry became a dominant force in Thedas," continued Alistair, "it sought to outlaw the use of magic so that it could never be misused again. However, they quickly realised that magic could be convenient at times, so they created the Circle of Magi to ensure that its use conformed to the Chantry's preconceptions."

"I suppose there's a certain logic to it," I mused, mulling it all over. "Though, to be honest, I find it all very strange. Paranoid, even."

"That pretty much sums up the Chantry in one word," agreed Alistair. "Which is why we will need to be extra careful when passing through towns and cities if we don't want our lovely guide to be apprehended by Templars."

"I would be more worried about getting past the Horde, if I were you," interjected Morrigan from up ahead.

"What does she mean?" I asked. "Surely we can easily slip past them at night."

"Being a Grey Warden is not all roses and cream," admitted Alistair. "Yes, we can sense darkspawn, but because the Joining involves the ingestion of 'spawn blood, we essentially become tainted too. So they can sense us as well. We should probably be able to get past the smaller groups, but the larger groups, especially if they have intelligent members, will always detect us."

"I love how no one tells me these things…" I muttered. It seemed that every time I manage to adjust myself to a situation, a new one came barrelling out of nowhere. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Well, you already know about the insatiable hunger, and now the fact that they can sense us as well. That only leaves the shortened lifespan and the nightmares."

"Nightmares?" I asked, snatching my head up. "What kind of nightmares?"

"Terrible ones," murmured Alistair, grimacing at the memory. "Full of terror and shadows. Apparently they are meant to be prophetic."

"What do you mean?" I pressed, recalling my own dream.

"Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to 'hear' the darkspawn. The archdemon…it 'talks' to the Horde and because of the Joining, we hear it too. That's why they sense us and why we can sense them. Sometimes, Wardens can also have dreams in which they catch a glimpse of the Horde's intentions." He paused, giving me a side-ways glance. "Why? Have you had such a dream?"

"I don't know," I admitted, after a bit of thought. "I did have _a_ dream but…"

"Something approaches," warned Morrigan from up ahead, coming to a stop and readying her staff.

"Darkspawn?" I asked, my hands flying to my swords. I could not sense their presence, but maybe that was because my 'hearing', as Alistair put it, wasn't developed enough yet.

"No, don't think so," my fellow Warden said. "But then darkspawn aren't the only ones who menace the king's road. They must share the space with the odd bandit, the struggling refugee, or…"

"Dog?" I asked as the creature came trotting around the bend. Upon seeing us, it gave a bark and made a beeline towards me.

"That wasn't on my list, but why not?" said Alistair. "Hey, isn't that the Mabari you helped cure?" he asked as the hound planted itself in front of me, its tongue lolling out of the corner of its mouth.

"Maybe," I admitted. "I mean, this one is quite huge as well. How can I tell?"

"Tell it to do something."

"Umm…like what?"

"Anything. Sit, beg, play dead. If he responds, you'll know it's the same dog."

"Erm…lie down," I said. The dog flopped to the ground. "Sit?" I asked tentatively. The dog sprang back onto its hindquarters. "Bark?" The dog responded with an assertive bark.

"I think it's the same hound," said Alistair. "Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of your very own wardog!"

"Does this mean we are going to have a mangy beast following us around now?" asked Morrigan, eyeing the dog distastefully. "How lovely…"

"He's not mangy…" mewed Alistair, crouching down before the Mabari and scratching its ears. "You're not mangy, aren't you boy?" The dog wagged its tail happily.

"How did he get past the Horde?" I wondered.

By way of response, I was hit by a now-familiar wave of nausea; a second later, half a dozen 'spawn came barrelling around the corner, weapons drawn and screaming. Before I even had time to draw my weapons, the Mabari launched itself at one 'spawn, its massive jaws closing itself around the thing's jugular. In the same second, one of Morrigan's spells hit another squarely in the chest, sending it flying through the air. Then Alistair was rushing past me, longsword in hand to engage a fearsome looking Hurlock wielding a battle axe. Suddenly, my swords were in my hands as well, without quite remembering that I had reached for them, and I was running towards my target. My blades cut through the 'spawns armour with co-ordinated precision, finding the vulnerable spots with ease, with what felt like their own volition. Before I knew it, the 'spawn was dead at my feet. Looking up, I could see Alistair staring at me with a mixture of shock and admiration.

"How did you do that? I have never seen anyone move that fast before," he said.

"I…I don't know," I admitted, looking down at my blades. Though they looked as they had always done, I could feel them pulsing with energy. This was the second time they seemed to have taken control of my limbs, guiding my hands to the target, rather than the other way around.

"Those blades have been enchanted," said Morrigan, coming to stand by my side. "See here? Near the hilt? Those runes indicate the swords have been magically enhanced."

"Enhanced? How?" I asked, peering at the row of neat etchings. They were so small I had never noticed them before.

"Do I look like a savant to you?" she asked, arching a brow. "You would need to ask someone who specialises in runes. Or you could always consult a compendium about runes. If you can read, of course."

"I can read," I replied defensively. "Do they have one of these rune savants in the village we are heading to?"

Morrigan snorted. "Lothering is a village of no consequence. It is a dismal collection of huts and farms inhabited by a motley collection of intolerant people. The only local attraction is village Chantry. And I can tell you that there are no savants in there."

"A Chantry?" asked Alistair. "And they never, in all this time, thought that maybe you were a witch?"

"Of course they have," came the flippant reply. "A strange female, living out in the swamp is bound to raise suspicion. They even called out the Templars once. Of course, they found nothing."

"How reassuring," muttered Alistair.

We resumed our journey in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As we walked, I found myself glancing frequently at my new animal companion who was trotting by my side with conflicting emotions. On one hand, I was intrigued by the fact that such a noble creature had chosen me to be its master. On the other hand, I was not quite comfortable with the idea that I had the power to command another being. In the Dalish experience, power was almost inevitably abused and I did not want the Mabari to resent the fact that he was subservient to me. After all, animals rarely enjoyed being captured and made to do another's bidding. But Alistair made it sound as if Mabari were different, that they enjoyed being with humans, or, in my case, elves. Well, if the hound wanted to stay, it was welcome to; and if it wanted to leave, I was not going to stop it.

I wished whimsically that I had such a choice about my own situation. Unfortunately, Alistair and I were the only Grey Wardens left and we had a duty to stop this Blight, whether we liked it or not. To shirk our responsibilities out now would not only be dishonourable, but foolish as well. Because unless we did something, this Blight was going to spread, and there would be nowhere left to run.

"Dark thoughts, Grey Warden?" inquired Morrigan, peering at me with those wolf-like eyes.

Looking up, I could see that in the process of brooding, I had drifted away from Alistair who was also deep in his own thoughts. "You could say that," I replied with a sigh. "So much seems to have happened in the past couple of days and I just haven't had time to come to terms with it all yet."

"Is it the nature of all Grey Wardens to be so easily disheartened?" our guide queried. "In my mind it does not make for an effective military unit."

"You would be disheartened too if you were only one of two survivors of a battle that was orchestrated so that one man could seize power for himself at the expanse of an entire kingdom," I retorted.

"Maybe," conceded Morrigan. "But my upbringing taught that it is not useful to dwell on the past. What has happened has happened and it cannot be changed. The only course of action is to prepare for the future."

"What possible future do I have to prepare for?" I cried. "The only one I can see is filled with death and destruction. And that is not a future worth preparing for."

"How do you know that this is the only future available to you?" countered Morrigan. "Are you a seer?"

"No, but…"

"Then you are free to create a future that _is_ worth preparing for. You are the master of your own fate, after all."

"How can two inexperienced Wardens face an army of darkspawn that overwhelmed the largest army I have ever seen in a matter of hours?" I retorted sceptically.

"You are not alone. You have the treaties and that means you have allies."

"But even if we manage to travel to all the different places that we have treaties for without getting killed, who is to say that we will be able to gather enough men to build an army?"

"You."

I blinked in confusion. "I don't understand…"

"It is you who must say," clarified the witch. "It is you who must make it so. Mother deemed it necessary to rescue you, rather than the King or anyone else because the two of you are the ones who will unite the lands against this Blight."

"H-how can she possibly know that?" The implications of what our guide was saying were too mind-boggling to comprehend.

"Mother is a very powerful sorceress. She has had centuries to perfect her gifts and she is never wrong. She saw something in you on your first meeting that convinced her that you have an important role to play in coming events."

"Why did she try to kill me then?" I asked with a shiver, remembering the vice-like grip of the old woman as she had drawn her blade.

"She was…not herself," Morrigan said haltingly. "It sometimes happens when magic overwhelms her. She is not as strong as she once was."

"What are you women gossiping about?" Alistair inquired, joining us. "I hope it's not about me. And if it is, I hope it is about my debonair good looks and witty charm."

I eyed Morrigan suspiciously. I did not know much about the workings of magic, so what she said could be true. But I had a strong feeling that the witch was hiding something. However, with the arrival of Alistair, I could not pursue the matter as Morrigan had already turned her attention towards him.

"How nice of you to join our conversation," drawled the sorceress. "Have you discussions with your navel proved dissatisfying?"

"What makes you think I was talking to my navel?"

"You were certainly staring at it long enough. Were you not able to glean any inspiring wisdom from it?"

"As a matter of fact, no," replied Alistair through gritted teeth.

Morrigan sighed. "You Grey Wardens are so serious. It's a wonder you haven't fallen on your blades in grief yet."

"Is the fact that we're upset so difficult to understand?" snapped Alistair, losing his calm. "How would you feel if you lost someone important to you? What would you do if your mother died, despite all your efforts?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?" asked the witch archly.

"Erm…right," said Alistair with a grimace. "You are creepy."

"Isn't that part of a witch's charm?" asked Morrigan with a smile.

10


	10. Bandits and Fools

**Chapter 10 – Bandits and Fools**

_He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose. _

– Jim Elliot

We emerged from the swamp around mid-afternoon. After a short walk through arid, hilly country, we joined up with the paved King's Road that would lead us to Lothering. But while our going had been pacey up until now, as we neared the town, the concentration of people on the road increased substantially. Many of the travellers were hollow-faced refugees fleeing the Blight, their worldly possessions tucked into crude sacks or balanced precariously on rickety wagons. Those who were better off had the luxury of a horse, cow or mule to pull the carts; those less fortunate had to take turns towing with their own back and sweat. I watched their procession sadly, being reminded of the hasty departure of my own clan, and wondered if they had managed to find a suitable location for a new camp yet. Dusty children gazed back at us with wide, hungry eyes and I could not find it in my heart to refuse to give them a couple of apples and a few chunks of bread.

"Why do you do that?" sniffed Morrigan disdainfully. "You are just perpetuating their neediness. Unless they learn to fend for themselves, they are as good as dead anyway, whether they receive your charity or not."

"They are just children," I replied quietly, handing a scruffy boy a wedge of cheese and watching him scurry back to his family's cart. "They cannot fend for themselves."

"Of course they can," countered Morrigan. "Children have a remarkable ability to make do in difficult times. Based on what I have seen, they are smaller, faster and more devious than the average adult. You may be amazed at how proficient they are at survival."

"What?" scoffed Alistair. "You mean spending the rest of their lives as street urchin, scrounging for food in the garbage? What a fulfilled existence that is…"

"I simply meant that those who have the capacity to survive, will. Those who don't, won't. You see it all the time in the wilds – those animals who have outlived their usefulness or those who do not have their wits about them are the ones that are picked on by the predators. Those who are fast, strong and observant live to brave another day."

"But animals are also communal," I countered. "They make no distinction between the different members of the group and they help each other raise the infants. Why should I refuse to aid another simply because he is not my kin?"

"Because humans are selfish and unappreciative," replied Morrigan. "Regardless of what Dalish society may be like, out here, life is nasty, brutish and short – and people know this. They will not be thankful for your help."

"Ah, I see," drawled Alistair. "This is your way of telling us that you have never had a friend in your entire life and you try to mask your loneliness in an air of disdain for humanity."

"I can be friendly," countered Morrigan, "when I want to be. I just haven't met many people who would have been worthwhile friends. And I certainly do not see any worthwhile candidates here," she added with a distasteful look at the refugees.

"Making friends and helping people are not the same thing," I replied. "We're Grey Wardens, and these people have been affected by the Blight. Surely it's our duty to help them." I shot an inquiring look at Alistair.

"Not as such, no…" my fellow Warden replied. "The Order's primary focus is military, the main aim of which is to defeat the archdemon. Once that happens, these people can go back to living their lives and you will not need to worry about them."

"Is my wanting to help them really that strange?" I asked defensively, digesting what Alistair had said.

"Your heartfelt concern for the helpless is…unconventional," he admitted.

I shook my head in exasperation. I could not understand either Morrigan or Alistair. Surely neither of them were so heartless as to stand idly by while children starved to death around them…

"Oh, perfect…" muttered Morrigan, interrupting my thoughts. Looking up, I could see that the line of people had come to a halt. "A dead horse in the middle of the road is just what we need."

"How do you know it's a dead horse?" I asked.

"Looking at the obvious lack of prosperity around us, I don't see what else it could be," she replied with an airy wave of her hand.

"Let's go find out," Alistair suggested, stepping off the road and jogging to the front of the queue. Morrigan and I followed suit.

"There seem to be men blocking the road," I observed as we neared the source of the standstill.

"That can only mean bandits or toll collectors," adduced Alistair. "Not much of a difference to be honest, though. Both of them are out to rob you."

"They want money?" I asked. "What for?"

"For using the road."

"You can't be serious," I scoffed. But as we approached, I could see that collecting money was exactly what the men were up to. One of them was holding a leather bag into which people were reluctantly dropping whatever coin they had while five others stood by with their weapons on clear display as a warning to anyone who was foolish enough to object. All of them were rough-looking and unshaven.

"Bandits," murmured Morrigan. "How lovely…"

Upon seeing us approach, the man with the bag bade one of his companions to mind the crowd while he came to intercept us. "Ho there, fellow travellers," he drawled, flashing us a smile that revealed several gold teeth. "I know you are eager to be on your way, but you'll need to wait your turn like everyone else."

"I cannot see this ending well," muttered Alistair, laying a hand on his pommel.

"Umm… they dunna look like them others," mumbled a thickset _shem_, scratching his bald head. "Maybe we shudda let them go? They have swords, you know…"

"Nonsense!" derided the other. "You know the rules: everyone pays ten silvers. That includes peasants, merchants, and mercenaries."

"What about Grey Wardens?" I asked archly. I was hoping that reference to the Order will knock some sense into their thick skulls.

"Grey Wardens?" gaped the unintelligent one. "Did you hear that? We'll get the bounty!"

"What bounty?" I asked, surprised. This exchange was not going as expected.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" drawled the first one, who appeared to be their leader. "Teyrn Loghain has promised a healthy reward for anyone who killed himself a Grey Warden."

"Is that so?" I asked cautiously, my fingers inching towards my swords.

"Yeah," grinned the gold-toothed _shem_. "Word is that they are officially traitors to the realm after they went and killed the king."

"What?" I exploded. "We did no such thing!"

"Well, according to Teyrn Loghain you did," the bandit countered. "And I daresay his word carries more weight than yours, him being the King Regent and all."

"King Regent?" blurted Alistair. "That backstabbing bastard…"

"I would be careful with your word choice, my friend," leered the leader. "Your position is unenviable as it is without you badmouthing the King Regent."

"I did not know bandits were so patriotic," gritted Alistair.

"Only when it is profitable," came the flippant reply. "Now. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. It's your choice," added the bandit, pointedly laying a hand on his sword.

"I say we teach these fools a lesson," declared Morrigan, hefting her staff.

Golden teeth flashed as the leader burst into laughter. "That's bold talk for a pretty lady! Shame we won't have a chance to put that quick tongue of yours to better… Argh!" he cried as Alistair's knife embedded itself into his neck.

"Anyone else got clever one-liners they wish to try out?" asked my fellow Warden as the _shem_ slid to the ground with a gurgle. The other bandits looked at each other dubiously. "Didn't think so." He caught my look of surprise. "What?" he asked. "He was annoying."

"We could have questioned him for information," I explained, watching the _shem_'s blood drool slowly over the flagstones. Somehow, killing humans was not quite the same as killing darkspawn.

"Well, if it's information you want, you can always ask the rest of them," he replied. "I'm sure they will be eager to share their knowledge," he added pointedly. The other bandits cringed under his gaze.

"We don't know nothing, really…" one of them said.

"W-we were just tryin' to get by, you know?" mumbled the heavyset _shem_ by way of an explanation. "Before the darkspawn get us all."

"By preying on innocent refugees?" I asked flatly.

They shuffled their feet guiltily. "Ever since the King Regent marched through, there'd been no soldiers in town. We thought…"

"That you would make a quick profit while the law was otherwise occupied," surmised Alistair, retrieving his knife with a disgusting _slurp_. "Who's in charge of Lothering now?"

"No one…" confessed one of the bandits. "The bann took all his men north with Loghain."

"There's a couple of Templars about," said another, "but they got their hands full with all them refugees that've been coming through. Look, we were just trying to make do like everyone else."

"What you were doing is unjustifiable," I hissed. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

"Oh!" laughed Morrigan. I turned to look at her with puzzlement. "Forgive me, but I did not realise that the Grey Wardens had the authority to scold scoundrels like naughty children."

"What do you propose we do with them, then?" I countered.

"Hand them over to the Templars!" shouted a woman from behind us. Turning around, I could see that a sizeable crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Several people murmured in acquiescence.

"Throw them in the stocks!" cried another. More muttered agreement, louder this time.

"I say kill them!" someone else called.

I cast my eyes anxiously over the angry faces. The mood against the bandits was definitely hostile.

"I suggest we leave before the crowd decides to exact its own justice," whispered Alistair next to me.

"What about the bandits?" I whispered back.

"If they know what's good for them, they will run. And hopefully think twice about their future vocations."

"That's asking a lot from bandits," muttered Morrigan. "After all, a raven cannot become a dove overnight."

"Hey, I don't hear you coming up with anything constructive," he replied defensively.

I wracked my brains for some sort of solution. The crowd was getting antsy and I did not want to get caught in the middle of a murderous mob. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me. Turning back to the bandits, I said, "I suggest you hand back everything you've taken." When they began to fidget indecisively, I added, "Unless you want us step aside and let this mob have their way with you."

The men cast each other nervous glances. After a tense moment of silent communication, one of said, "It's all in that barrel over there."

Catching Alistair's eye, I indicated that he should go and check. Sure enough, he was able to retrieve two large bags of loot in addition to the sack that was lying by the side of the leader's corpse.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered as he deposited the two bags near my feet.

"So do I," I replied. Turning to the crowd, I said, "As you can see, we have relieved the bandits of their ill-gotten gains. We are going to take this money to the town Chantry so it may be returned to those it was taken from. We will also seek out the person in charge of the town's defence to ensure that this type of robbery does not happen again."

"Really?" scoffed Morrigan. "This is your plan?"

"I trust no one has a problem with that," I added meaningfully, ignoring Morrigan.

"How do we know you won't just take the money?" cried a man from the crowd.

"You don't. But I give you my word as a Grey Warden that the money will be handled properly."

"You may be a Grey Warden," called another, "but you're still an elf."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked testily.

"That you're just as bad as the rest of them bandits," came the unapologetic reply.

"What?" I exploded, against my better judgement.

"You heard me!" cried the man. "Elves are nothin' but low-life scum feeding off the rest of us decent folk. I say we take that money rather than have it end up in the hands of another set of thieves."

I could do nothing but gape in complete disbelief as the crowd murmured its assent and began to move slowly towards us. At that moment, however, there was a commotion at the back of the line and the crowd quickly parted to reveal a group of heavily armoured man making their way towards us.

"Templars," said Alistair. Morrigan quickly drew her hood up and tried to make herself inconspicuous.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked nervously. The soldiers looked like they could do some serious damage and I had no desire to get into a fight with one of them.

"It's difficult to say…"

"What's happened here?" asked the lead Templar. "We got word from the town that there was a blood being spilt on the King's Road."

"You were informed correctly, sir" said Alistair, stepping to the front. "We dealt with a group of bandits who were pilfering travellers and refugees on their way to Lothering."

"Is that so?" asked the Templar, surveying the scene. His eyes came to rest on the corpse. "I only see one bandit."

"The rest of them scampered off," admitted my fellow Warden.

"I see," the Templar murmured. "And who are you to impose order on the road?"

"We are Grey Wardens, sir."

"Grey Wardens, you say?" asked the man. "I hope you realise that all extant Wardens have been declared to be traitors to the realm for killing the king."

"We did no such thing," I hissed.

"No, I don't think you did," admitted the Templar. "The Grey Wardens have always been an honourable order and I don't believe they would be so malicious – or foolish – as to kill a king. But, the Teyrn's word is now law and I cannot contest it."

"So, will you arrest us then?" I asked.

"No. You have done an honourable thing, dispatching those bandits. They have been harrowing refugees for weeks, but we have been unable to spare any men to deal with them. For this you have my thanks. However, I suggest that you do not advertise your presence here and move on quickly. You may take the loot the bandits had collected by way of payment for your services."

"Erm, thanks. I guess," I mumbled, taken aback by the Templar's kindness. "But surely these people need the money more than we do. We were going to take it to the Chantry and ask them to distribute it among the needy."

"That is very thoughtful of you. The Revered Mother's resources have been stretched thin trying to help the refugees as best she can. The money would be put to good use, I can assure you."

"You're welcome," I replied, shooting a meaningful look at Morrigan who rolled her eyes.

"Now, unless there is anything else, my men and I need to disperse this crowd and then return to the town and prepare the evacuation of the occupants before the Horde reaches us."

"Yes, there is actually. Is there anywhere we can get supplies?" I asked.

"There are a couple of merchants plying their wares, though they are charging extortionate prices. Food is scarce – the local wildlife has dispersed and the surrounding vegetation has been picked clean. I suggest you try your luck elsewhere. Good day."

"That's encouraging," observed Alistair dryly, watching the Templars begin to direct the crowd towards the town again.

"At least we didn't get arrested. Or killed," I pointed out.

"True, but you did foolishly throw a pile of money away, which I assume we will need if we wish to have dealings with unscrupulous merchants," said Morrigan.

"Let's take what we need then and give the rest to the Chantry. Unless you want to carry three sacks of coin around for the rest of our journey."

"We could fashion some dog-sized saddlebags," mused Alistair. The Mabari growled in response. "Nor not."

We quickly divided the money and were about to set off when I noticed that something had caught the attention of the Mabari in one of the bushes by the side of the road. Intrigued, I went over to see what it was.

"Alistair?" I called. "I think you should take a look at this."

"What? What is it?" he asked, hurrying over.

Morrigan followed at a more leisurely pace, though I could see that she was curious as well. Her face quickly fell when she saw what the commotion was about. "Another dead body? Haven't you seen enough already?"

"He's not just any dead body," said Alistair. "He is wearing Redcliffe's colours. He was a member of Arl Eamon's guard."

"You mean Cailan's uncle?" I asked. "What do you suppose he was doing in Lothering?"

"I have no idea. Search the body. Maybe we can find something useful."

"Ransacking corpses?" asked Morrigan. "I knew you had few standards Alistair, but this is a new low, even for you."

"I found something!" I declared, holding up a slightly blood stained letter.

"What does it say?" asked Alistair.

"_So many of my fellow knights have been searching for the Urn_," I began. "_Surely one of them must have found Brother Genitivi by now. Still, until I hear that all is well, I must proceed as planned. Brother Genitivi holds the key to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes: We always knew this, but I believe I now know where Brother Genitivi lies. I have been to his home in Denerim and found the trail, and I am amazed that other knights have not done likewise. Unless they have? No, it is best not to get caught up in thoughts of conspiracy. Ser Donall awaits my report in Lothering. I must go to him immediately and report what I have learned. Should anyone find these ramblings, all I ask is that he be informed of my fate. I pray that he complete what I cannot. Ser Henric._"

"He was searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" gaped Alistair. "Now that is an exercise in futility."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes is a religious relic said to contain the remains of Andraste, a prophet upon whose teachings the Chantry is founded. It is believed to have the power to heal anyone, even those on the verge of death."

"So why is trying to find it an exercise in futility?"

"Because no one knows where the Urn is located, or whether it even exists in the first place."

"Why would Eamon send men to find it then?"

"I have no idea," confessed Alistair. "The Arl was always a very sensible man. He never put much stock in what he called 'fanciful stories'. If his knights are looking for the Urn, it means something is seriously wrong."

"We could try to find this Ser Donall. The body is a few days old at most, so he may still be waiting for his companion."

"It's worth a try," agreed Alistair. "Donall and I trained together before I was sent to become a Templar. At the very least he could provide us with information about the Arl."

"Where do you propose we start?" I asked.

"The inn it is then," I declared, setting off. "I hope they have food…I'm starving!"

"I wouldn't put much of a wager on that," Alistair warned. "You heard what the Templar said."

"I can still have hope," I replied.

"You mean a fool's hope," corrected Morrigan.

"You are just like Tamlin…" I accused. "He always had a knack for shaking my optimism."

"This Tamlin," started Morrigan. "Was he your lover?"

"What?" I cried. "No! J-just a friend. Why would you think that?"

"Lovers have a curious habit of pointing out our worst faults and then proceeding to try and correct them."

"Sounds like you speak from experience," I said.

"Hardly. I am good at observing people's interactions and drawing inferences."

"Which is probably why you never had any 'interactions' of your own," Alistair sniggered.

"Have you heard me comment on _your_ lack of 'interactions'?" countered Morrigan.

"No. Because there is no lack."

"Really? That's surprising. I would have thought women were attracted to strong and intelligent men."

"Are you saying I'm not strong?"

"No, I'm saying you're not intelligent."

"On the contrary, I am very intelligent. I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history. They don't make stupid Templars."

"Then I must have been mistaken. I'm very impressed."

"No you're not. You're not even listening to me."

"My, you are smarter than you look after all. Your Chantry must have been very proud."

"Alright, children. That's enough." I declared as we reached the ramshackle inn. Opening the door, we were confronted by a smoky interior that reeked of sweat and stale alcohol. Dirty men and women sat at greasy tables nursing tankards solemnly while the innkeeper was polishing glasses with a stained cloth, eyeing us suspiciously.

"Who knew that an establishment could hold so much warmth and cheer?" quipped Alistair.

"I would be more concerned about those men in the corner," warned Morrigan, indicating the heavily armoured group that was watching us intently.

"If I'm not mistaken then they're Loghain's men," confirmed my fellow Warden.

"Do you think they are looking for us?" I whispered as we squeezed around a wobbly table.

"I don't know," replied Alistair, watching the men rise and move towards our table. "But I think we are about to find out."

"Well, well, well," drawled a particularly burly man with a shaved head, planting a booted foot on our table. "If it isn't the elf and the bastard. And a Chassind whore by the looks of it. I tell you, Alistair, you really know how to pick your friends."

"And you are?" Alistair asked icily.

"The man who is going to be very rich when he presents your heads to Loghain."

"Not if my friend here sticks you first. Oh, and did I mention that she has a Mabari?" The wardog growled from beneath the table, in response to which the man wisely removed his foot from the table.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for threats," chimed a melodic voice. "These travellers are welcome to take refuge here just like all the other poor souls who have been displaced by the Blight." Craning my neck, I could just make out a slender red-haired woman from behind Loghain's men.

"They aren't just travellers. They are Grey Wardens and traitors to the realm."

"I'm sure you are mistaken…" she soothed, moving to lay a delicate hand on the man's shoulder.

"Stay out of this, Sister," grunted the shaven thug, batting her away. "Unless you want to share their fate."

"Hey!" cried Alistair, jumping to his feet. "You be nice to her!"

"Or what? You'll send me to bed without supper?"

"Bad choice of words," I sighed, whacking him over the head with a coin bag. The man crumpled like a straw doll.

Taking my queue, Alistair pounced on the nearest man and proceeded to break his nose. Morrigan jumped onto the table and used her staff as a battering ram to knock the wind out of another crony, while the Mabari launched himself at the throat of a third. Meanwhile, the red-haired woman had produced a slender sword from among her robes and was facing off with the fourth. The fight was over before it had a chance to begin.

"What do you suppose we should do with them?" asked Alistair, indicating the prone men on the floor.

"We could kill them," suggested Morrigan. "That way we know we will never run into them again."

"Loghain will just send more," said Alistair.

"I have an idea." I grabbed the nearest thug by his jerkin and slapped him awake. "Listen very carefully. Unless you want a new hole to breathe from, I suggest you run back to Loghain like a good little lapdog and tell him that we're coming for him. Tell him we know what _really_ happened at Ostagar and it's only a matter of time before everyone else does too. Got it?" The man nodded woozily before his eyes rolled back into head again.

"What was the point of that?" asked Alistair.

"Evening the odds," I replied with a smile. "Now it's Loghain who will have to look over his shoulder, wondering when we will show up with a dagger with his name on it. Hopefully that message will shake his confidence a bit."

"I apologise for interrupting," said the Sister, coming over to us. "But I just wanted ask if any of you were injured."

"We're fine, thanks."

"Oh, good," she replied, smiling. "I'm sorry for interfering, but I couldn't stand by and let them hurt you."

"I think we can take care of ourselves," muttered Morrigan.

"Of course," she replied, blushing. "You are Grey Wardens, after all. I am Leliana, a Lay Sister of the Lothering Chantry. At least…I was."

"What do you mean?" asked Alistair.

"I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation. However, I came to realise that it was not the life I was meant to lead."

"What life are you meant to lead then?"

"The coming of the Blight has upset the balance of the world. I cannot just sit in a Chantry and watch the kingdom be destroyed. That is why I am coming with you."

"Excuse me?" I spluttered.

"I-I know it sounds insane, but I had a dream in which the Maker informed me of your coming and that I am to join you. For what purpose, I do not yet know, but I feel it in my heart that this is the right path."

"More crazy?" asked Alistair. "I thought we were all full up."

"Please!" beseeched Leliana. "Unless we do something, this darkness and this chaos will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. Let me help you do the Maker's work and rid the world of this Blight!"

"One cannot fault her enthusiasm," commented Morrigan. "No matter how delusional she may be."

"She could be useful, though. She is quite good with a sword and we _are_ in the process of mustering an army," I pointed out. "Plus, she may know something about the Urn."

"I don't know…" mused Alistair. "It would be handy to have a god on our side, but…"

"It's settled then," I chirped brightly. "Welcome to our group, Leliana."

"Oh, thank you so much!" she cried. "I will not let you down!"

"That remains to be seen," muttered Morrigan.


	11. Redemption

**Chapter 11 – Redemption**

"_The tendency to turn human judgments into divine commands makes religion one of the most dangerous forces in the world_." – Georgina Harkness

"Eugh…" moaned Alistair as he stumbled from the inn. "I don't think I should have eaten that…"

"I told you that bread was mouldy," remarked Morrigan without much sympathy. "But no. You decided to swallow it whole."

"Grey Warden here," retorted Alistair, jabbing a thumb at himself. "Insatiable hunger, remember?"

"I know a song that will make you feel better!" chirped Leliana.

"Thanks, but I really don't think singing will help right now," grumbled Alistair, emitting a loud belch.

"Oh, trust me, it will," smiled Leliana. Before Alistair could protest, the former Sister opened her mouth and proceeded to sing the most enchanting song I had ever heard. I was swept with the melody, finding myself flying over a lush green landscape just as the sun burst over the horizon, showering the land with gold and bronze. In that moment, felt free of all care and anything was possible.

"That…that was beautiful," breathed Alistair, eyes slightly glazed from the experience.

"You're welcome," trilled Leliana. "Feeling better?"

"Oh, yeah…"

"Where did you learn to sing like that?" I asked.

"Oh, back home in Orlais before I joined the Chantry," she replied, smiling a bit tightly. "It's nothing special, really."

"On the contrary," interjected Morrigan, "your talent is very special. I believe people of your proficiency are referred to as bards."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"A person who is able to interweave magic and music in such a way as to influence the moods of those around them," explained Morrigan. "It is a rare talent, I am given to understand."

"Looks like there's more to this young Sister than meets that eye," surmised Alistair, looking a lot rosier around the cheeks. Leliana looked away uncomfortably. "But I suggest we leave the elaboration of our life stories for a later time. It's getting late and we still have a lot to do."

With Morrigan in the lead, we picked our way across the churned up earth towards the scanty marketplace. With the help of the bandit's loot, we quickly bought what meagre supplies were on offer before heading towards the Chantry. Outside of the sturdy looking stone building, however, we were greeted by a bizarre sight.

"The legions of evil are on your doorstep! They will feats upon our hearts!" cried a wild-eyed soldier who was standing in the middle of a group of frightened and bemused onlookers. "There is nowhere to run! This evil will cover the world, like a plague of locusts."

"Please," interrupted a man. "You're scaring the women and children…"

Rounding on the man who had spoken, the soldier cried, "Better to slit their throats now than let them suffer at the hands of the darkspawn!"

"A deranged soothsayer," murmured Morrigan. "How quaint."

Hearing Morrigan speak, the man swung around again to address her. When he caught sight of Alistair and me, he visibly blanched. "There! Their minions are already amongst us! These two bear their evil stench! Can you not see the vile blackness that fills them?"

"Ignore him, people," said Alistair, addressing the growing crowd. "He is nothing but a raving lunatic."

"I watched the black horde descend on my people!" the man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Don't tell me that I am mad!"

"Shut him up!" cried a man from the crowd. "I don't want to listen to his tirades any longer!"

"But what if he's right?" asked a woman, clutching a child to her side. "With the Bann gone, we have no one to protect us from the Blight."

"That's right!" cried the man triumphantly. "These two are but the first of those who will destroy us. Just like they destroyed my clan!"

"Oh, you poor soul," murmured Leliana, stepping up to him and laying a soothing hand on him. Upon her touch, the man dissolved into a fit of tears. "What happened to you?"

"They killed them!" he sobbed. "They killed them all! My family was butchered in front of my eyes. And the same will happen to you all!" he shouted, sweeping his hand across the crowd.

"Shh…" chided Leliana, stroking his head. "It's alright…"

"If his entire clan was murdered," mused Morrigan, "how did he escape, I wonder?"

"Evil witch!" hissed the man. "I will not listen to your insidious words!"

"Leave him be," said Alistair. "His brain is clearly addled."

"Why won't you tell us what happened?" I pressed, stepping up to him. "Your story could give these people a chance to save themselves. Then the deaths of your clan will not have been in vain."

The man's eyes brimmed over. "They…they dragged off my wife. I ran to save her, but I was too late. I can still hear her screams…"

"I am truly sorry for your loss," I said sincerely. I knew very well what it was like to lose a loved one. "But scaring all these people will not bring her back."

"Are you calling me a coward?"

"I think she's calling you an idiot," remarked Alistair.

"No!" I protested, shooting my fellow Warden a dirty look. "I was just trying to…"

"I-I am ashamed, yes," admitted the man, casting his eyes down. When he looked up again, they were filled with determination. "But I will not wait for the horde to take me as they did my family! I refuse to become one of them!"

Before any of us could say something, the man produced a knife and stabbed himself in the heart, splattering Leliana in blood. Several people gasped in shock. "There is no hope left…" he managed to wheeze before collapsing to the ground.

A stunned silence enveloped the crowd. A child began to cry, shattering the stillness and eliciting a cacophony of responses ranging from anxiety to derision. A couple of people raked suspicious glances over Alistair and me and began muttering amongst themselves.

"I think that's our queue to leave," I whispered, trying to edge towards the door of the Chantry as unobtrusively as possible.

"You really have a remarkable rapport with crowds," observed Morrigan. "I am surprised you don't make public appearances more often."

"Oh, stuff it," I spat as we moved hastily towards the Chantry. Behind me, I heard Alistair snicker. I didn't feel like asking if it was directed at me or Morrigan. All I could think about was the sudden eruption of blood from the mad soldier's chest, and the all too gruesome resemblance to poor Jory's death. Maybe the solider was right…maybe the Grey Wardens were the harbingers of death…

"I am sorry, but we have no more spare beds," said the Templar guarding the Chantry doors. "I suggest you seek your fortunes elsewhere."

"I thought it would be evident that we are not refugees," muttered Morrigan. "But I suppose the gift of perception is not bestowed upon everyone."

"What my friend here means, sir," said Alistair quickly, "is that we are here to speak with the Revered Mother. We have something for her which she might appreciate."

The guard eyed us suspiciously. At that moment, however, the doors opened and another Templar emerged. Catching sight of us, he smiled. "Ah, the Wardens from the King's Road. You are here to see the Revered Mother, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," replied Alistair. "We were just having a nice chat with one of your men."

"I see," murmured the captain, making the guard cringe. "You best come inside. The Revered Mother is anxious to make your acquaintance."

Filing inside, we were greeted with a miserable sight. Every accessible space along the Chantry's floor was covered with makeshift beds and personal belongings. Forlorn eyes stared out of hollow and dirty faces and solemn-looking Chantry Sisters shuffled silently amongst the pallets, handing out bread and dried meat to the refugees.

"All these poor souls…" sighed Leliana. "How many of them do you suppose there are?"

"We have lost count," replied the Templar captain. "We try to make them move on after a day or two, but most of them keep coming back. The Revered Mother is want to turn them away, saying it is against the teachings of Andraste to do so. But there is only so much food to go around and my scouts say that the Horde is advancing once more. It is only a matter of time before they reach Lothering."

"Hopefully the loot we retrieved from the bandits will make the Revered Mother's task easier," I said.

"Yes," replied the captain. "I believe it will. You will find her at the end of the hall, on the right. I would take you there myself, but I have to prepare Lothering's defences. The Maker be with you." With a smart salute, he turned on his heel and marched away.

We barely walked two steps before a man who was clearly not a refugee rushed up. "Alistair? Is that you?" he cried as he neared us.

"Donall?" asked Alistair in surprise and recognition.

"It is you!" exclaimed Donall. "By the Maker, I thought you were dead. Last I heard, you were at Ostagar and with those horrible reports coming in, I imagined the worst…"

"No, I'm not dead yet… No thanks to Teyrn Loghain."

"I heard about that too. Why would the Teyrn say such a thing?"

"Who knows? But with the help of Arl Eamon I'm sure we could…"

"The Arl is gravely ill," interrupted Donall.

"What?" exclaimed Alistair. "Last I saw him, he was fit as an ox!"

"It came as a shock to the whole of Redcliffe. One minute, the Arl was fine, and the next, confined to bed with the life draining out of him. We suspected poison at first, but no antidote worked."

"So now you're trying to find the Urn," surmised Alistair.

"The Urn?" gasped Leliana, turning pale.

"Yes," replied Donnal. "How did you know?"

"We found this on a dead knight outside of Lothering," I said, handing him the note. "He must have fallen afoul of bandits...or assassins."

"Ser Henric is dead?" gasped Donall, quickly scanning the letter. "And he knew Brother Genitivi's location? Oh, this is terrible. I thought we were finally making progress…"

"Sorry to interrupt, but are you sure that chasing a fable is the best way to help the Arl?" asked Morrigan. "Surely a competent physician could diagnose his condition."

"We tried," sighed Donall. "But the Arlessa is convinced that only by finding the Urn can the Arl be saved. Though I think there is dark magic involved…"

"What do you mean?" asked Alistair.

"Shortly before the Arl fell ill, he appointed a mage, Jowan, to tutor his son. The boy is remarkably gifted in magic, but the Arlessa did not want him to be sent away to the Circle. When the Arl succumbed to whatever is affecting him, Jowan was a primary suspect, but he claims he is innocent and does not know how to reverse illness."

"Is there any point in going to Redcliffe then?" asked Alistair. "We had hoped to talk to the Arl about challenging Loghain."

"You will most certainly be welcomed at Castle Redcliffe," replied Donall. "As to whether or not to the Arl is still alive by the time you get there, I cannot tell you. He was in a grave state when we left, and unless some miracle occurred in my absence, he is surely worse. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my task. Thank you for informing me of Henric's fate. I hope better fortunes await you."

"Well, this complicates things a bit…" I muttered to Alistair, watching Donall disappear down a passageway. "You…you don't suppose Loghain is somehow behind this as well?"

"I would not be too surprised if he is," replied Alistair darkly. "The Teyrn is a conniving bastard who is not afraid to resort to underhand means to achieve his aims."

"What do you want to do?" I asked. The others inched closer as well, waiting to hear what Alistair would say.

"I…I'm not sure," he admitted. "I know time is of the essence, but I would like to pay a visit to Redcliffe. It's a two day journey at most from here. Even if I end up going by myself, I'd like to find out more about the Arl's illness if I can. He took me in when he didn't have to so I owe that to him at least."

"Then we will go with you," I replied. "I'm sure that with the four of us…" The Mabari interrupted with a bark. "Okay, five of us," I corrected with a smile, "can unearth something about what happened."

"Is that so?" asked Morrigan archly. "If you ask me, going to Redcliffe is a waste of time. You heard what that man said – the Arl is most likely dead. The best thing to do know is to strike at this Loghain directly while we still have an advantage."

"Yes, he certainly wouldn't see that coming!" said Alistair. "And it's not like _he_ has the advantage of an army, and experience, and spies. He'll know that we're coming long before he get anywhere near Denerim."

"I agree," I responded. "Loghain has been ahead of us every step of the way so far. The mercenaries he sent here to kill us proves that. If we go to Redcliffe, he may think that we've given up on him, for a while at least, which will give us time to gather more information and plan our next move."

"The Circle of Magi and Orzammar are not too far from Redcliffe," added Alistair. "Both are relatively isolated places, so if we start enforcing the treaties there, we may be able to slip under Loghain's gaze for a while longer. Getting to Bercilian Forest will be more difficult as it takes us towards Denerim, but if we're careful, and use the back roads, we should be able to slip past any spies."

"That may be," conceded Morrigan. "But if we deal with Loghain first, then we are at liberty to enforce the treaties in relative safety. Surely even you see the benefit in that course of action."

"You've been awfully quiet," I remarked, turning to Leliana. "What do you think?"

"Me?" she asked in surprise. "You're asking for my input?" I nodded encouragingly. "Oh… well, in that case, I'm happy to go with you to Redcliffe. If everything that the knight said is true, then the light of Andraste will certainly be needed there."

"And I suppose that you will be providing this divine service yourself?" drawled Morrigan.

"Well…yes," Leliana replied, standing up a bit straighter. "I know that I am not a Sister anymore, but that does not mean that I cannot use my knowledge and training to provide comfort and solace to those in need of it."

"Looks like it's decided then," I surmised. "After we are done talking to the Revered Mother, we will head to Redcliffe." Ignoring Morrigan's scowl, I continued walking down the crowded hall towards the Revered Mother's chambers.

"Thanks," murmured Alistair in my ear. "You didn't have to…"

"Yes, I did," I responded. "We are in this together now, so what's important to you is also important to me. Plus, you said back at Flemeth's that Arl Eamon is a respected man. If we are able to somehow find a cure for his illness, any soldiers we gather will be more likely to stand behind him than a pair of lowly Grey Wardens, which will make leading an army easier."

"Hmm…" mused Alistair. "I hadn't thought of it that way. But you are right. Eamon will definitely know how to lead an army, and his involvement will give credence to our stand against Loghain."

"You, miss," said a Templar as we approached the Revered Mother's rooms. "What is your name?"

"Who do you mean?" I asked suspiciously. "There are three of us women here."

"You," he said, pointing at Morrigan. "The odd one."

"Odd one?" asked Morrigan, her hackles rising. But she quickly checked herself. "Well, sir, you would not be the first to think so. But I must ask you to avert your eyes for I will not deign you to stare too long."

"Best get used to it, miss. I'll be watching you and your little group. There will be no trouble here, not under my watch."

"We are not here to cause trouble," intercepted Alistair. "We would like to see the Revered Mother, if she will receive us. We have something for her."

"And what might that something be?" asked the Templar.

"Oh, do let them in, Ser Rogan," called the voice of an elderly woman. "I'm sure they mean no harm."

"Yes, m'am," conceded the Templar, grudgingly allowing us to pass.

"Don't mind him," said the Revered Mother once we had all filed in. "He can be a bit overbearing sometimes, but Ser Rogan means well." Laying her eyes on Leliana, she said, "Dear Sister. I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would have left Lothering by now."

"No, your Reverence," replied Leliana. "But I will be soon."

"I see you have made some new acquaintances. Travelling in a group is always more pleasant than doing so alone. May I ask who they are?"

"They are Grey Wardens, your Reverence."

"Grey Wardens? Oh dear…"

"I thought we agreed not to advertise our presence here," remarked Alistair.

"Apparently, she did not get that note," observed Morrigan.

"You put me in a difficult position," admitted the Revered Mother. "As you are no doubt aware, Teyrn Loghain has declared all Grey Wardens, and anyone who associates with to be outlaws."

"I understand, your Reverence," replied Leliana. "But the Maker has told me in a dream that my fate lies with this man and woman."

"I see," said the Revered Mother. "I only hope you will take care of yourself, my child."

"You need not worry about that, your Reverence," I said. "Leliana is quite skilful with the sword."

"Yes, I know," she replied. "Now, I understand that you have something urgent to discuss with me?"

"Yes," I said, stepping forward. "We dispatched that group of bandits outside of Lothering who had been profiting off of the refugees."

"Ah, yes. Captain Bryant told me about that. Thank you so much for your services. The Chantry's coffers are very low as a result of all these poor souls seeking refuge here, but I would nevertheless like to reward you for your bravery."

"Actually, we were hoping to give you the money they had collected. I'm sure you will put it to good use," I explained, handing her the bags.

"Oh, thank you," she said, her eyes misting over with tears. "You have no idea who much this will mean for those displaced families. Are you sure there is no way I can repay you?"

"If it would not be too much to ask," offered Alistair, "we would really appreciate it if you could keep our presence here a secret."

"I don't see why not," agreed the Revered Mother. "If you promise to lay low and not cause any trouble, I will not advertise that you have passed this way. Now, unless there is something else, I must get back to the refugees."

"Thank you for your help," I said sincerely.

"No, thank _you_," she said. "This money you have donated will go a long way in helping a lot of people. After all that you have done for this village, keeping quiet about your presence is the least I can do."

"Would the Revered Mother mind giving these Wardens the blessing of the Maker?" asked Leliana. "They have a long road ahead of them and…"

"Of course, my child," smiled the Revered Mother. "Please, kneel."

Leliana and Alistair immediately dropped down onto one knee. Morrigan and I were a bit more hesitant, but after a moment of thought, I bent my knee as well, and indicated for Morrigan to do the same. She furrowed her brow at me in annoyance, but complied.

"In Andraste's name," intoned the Revered Mother, "I call upon the Maker to watch over His children and creations. Watch over their path, O Maker and give them light in this darkness."

Closing my eyes, I felt a warm breeze ruffle my hair. Quickly opening my eyes, I looked around, but could find no open doors or windows through which the wind could have come from. Catching my eye, the Revered Mother smiled at me knowingly.

"Even though as an elf you may not believe in the Maker, know that he believes in you," she said gently.

Nodding, I got to my feet and made my way outside in a bit of a daze. Morrigan came quickly to my side and hissed, "What was the point of that? I did not take you for the bowing and scraping religious-type."

"Your assessment was correct," I hissed back. "But I did not think it would have been a good idea to offend her by refusing her god's blessing after she had agreed to help us keep a low profile."

"You are too sentimental for your own good," she remarked. "First the obsessive need to help the poor and downtrodden, and now this tiptoeing around people in case you offend them. I am surprised the world has not gobbled you up yet."

"If my inclinations offend you so much, then you are free to leave whenever you wish."

Morrigan looked taken aback. "And go back to living with my deranged mother? I think not."

"Is there a reason why our sulky friend is more sulky than usual?" asked Alistair, coming to walk next to me as Morrigan stalked away in a huff.

"She is offended that she had to receive a blessing from a god she doesn't believe in."

"Ah, that. I was surprised that she did not spontaneously combust during the ritual." I tried to stifle a giggle without much success. "I wouldn't be too worried about her," continued Alistair. "She is tough as nails, that one. She'll get over it."

"I…also sort of implied that she may be better off leaving…" I admitted. "I think she may be mad at me."

"Well, she didn't really want to come with us in the first place, so if anyone should be mad, it's you for having to put up with her for so long."

"What's that?" I asked suddenly as we neared the edge of the village. "Is that…a person inside?" Rushing up to the rusty cage, I saw that my suspicions were confirmed. Standing inside the horrid contraption was a man who was almost too tall to stand upright in the confined space. His clothes were ragged and stained, but his face was calm as he chanted in a strange language. As I ran up to him, his grey-gold eyes locked on me and I had the weird sensation that he was reading the very depths of my soul.

"You are not one of my captors," he said in the Common Tongue, though in a strange tilting accent.

"No, I am not. I just wanted to…"

"I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf," he interrupted. "Leave me in peace."

"Peace? But you are a prisoner, put in here against your will, unless I am grossly mistaken."

"Yes, I am a prisoner."

"What did you do to deserve such treatment?" I pressed.

"The Revered Mother placed him in the cage," explained Leliana. "He slaughtered an entire family. Even the children."

"It is as she says," confirmed the prisoner. "I am Sten of the Beresaad – the vanguard – of the Qunari peoples. And I have been declared a murderer by your Chantry."

"And I am Feylin, of the Oak Clan of the Dalish. I am sorry to meet you under such unhappy circumstances."

"You mock me," growled Sten. "Or do you show manners I have not come to expect in this land? It matters little now, however. I am to die soon enough for my actions."

"Die?" I asked, confused. "Surely even prisoners get fed…"

"He has been trapped here as bait for the darkspawn," clarified Alistair. "It is an old and cruel practice, reserved as punishment only for the most serious of crimes."

"Oh…" I choked.

"This is a proud and powerful creature," observed Morrigan. "If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone. But it appears that in our little group, my opinions are not valued…"

"Mercy?" asked Alistair. "I wouldn't have expected that from you…"

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage. That way he need no longer plague us with his lack of intelligence."

"Now that's more expected…" said Alistair wryly.

"Morrigan is right," I declared. I caught my companion's brief look of surprise before it turned to smugness. "This is unjustifiable. I am going back to the village and demand that they release you."

"Only the Revered Mother has the power to grant such clemency," said Leliana. "But I agree with you also. It seems cruel to abandon such a noble creature to such a horrid fate."

"I suggest you leave me to my fate," said Sten. "As you have said, it is not for you to decide."

"Why are you so complacent?" I cried. "Why are so you willing to die?" As someone who had seen more death and suffering in a few short days than most people see in a lifetime, and had come close to it more than once, I could not understand how this prisoner could so idly accept his fate.

"Death will be my atonement," Sten replied stoically.

"If you are so concerned about redemption, there are other ways to expiate your crime, assuming that you have been justly accused in the first place!"

"Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"We are Grey Wardens," I explained. "We are tasked as an order to defend the land against the Blight. We are in the process of building an army to make a stand against the Horde and to challenge a man by the name of Teyrn Loghain who has murdered King Cailan and is using the chaos caused by the darkspawn to take control of Ferelden. You said you were a vanguard among your people – a warrior. You could use your skills as a fighter to help us defend the land and end the Blight."

"Grey Wardens?" asked Sten, betraying a hint of surprise. "Your order is known among my people for their strength and skill in battle. Though I would never have taken you to be one of them…"

"Would you join us, then, if I can secure your release?" I pressed.

"Joining your cause is as likely to bring about my death as waiting here."

"I think that's as much of an answer as we're ever going to get out of him," remarked Alistair. "I know you like helping people," he said as I began to march back towards the Chantry, "but are you sure it's a good idea to bring a _murderer_ along?"

"He never actually admitted to the crime," I replied. "All he said was that he had been _declared_ to be a murderer. I think he was falsely accused…just for being different."

"Fine. But if he knifes us in our sleep, I get the right to say 'I told you so'."

Reaching the Chantry, I stalked past the guards before they had a chance to challenge us. As I burst into her room, the Revered Mother looked up in surprise at our unexpected arrival. "Yes?" she queried warily. "What can I do for you now?"

"I have just found out that you have imprisoned a Qunari as bait for the darkspawn."

"That is correct. He murdered an entire farmhold, eight people in total, while they slept in their beds. Only the youngest child hid long enough to survive. He told us that his father had taken the Qunari in after finding him gravely wounded in one of the fields. The family nursed him back to health and that kindness was repaid with cold-blooded murder. The convention would have been to execute him, but the Maker forbids his clergy from spilling blood."

"So you seek to extricate yourself from sin by leaving him to be killed by the darkspawn?" I asked incredulously.

"His fate is now in the hands of the Maker," she replied with finality. "Why does he interest you so much, anyway?"

"Are you sure he was the one who killed the family?" I pressed.

"Yes. He was found by the Bann standing amidst the carnage. He did not resist his arrest and confessed quite readily, though he did not give a reason for his actions. Now, will you tell me why you are suddenly so interested in him?"

"I want you to release him. As a Grey Warden, I invoke the right of conscription so that he may join me in our fight against the Blight." I hoped that sounded official enough.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot help you. The Qunari may seem docile in his cage, but do not be fooled. Even the seasoned soldiers who arrested him were sickened by the carnage he wrought. He is dangerous and I will not allow him to once again become a threat to innocent people."

"But if you release him into my custody, he will no longer be of your concern. We are leaving Lothering, so the people here will be in no danger."

"Yes, but what about the people at your next destination? Can you vouch for their safety when you do not even know the man? And what about your safety? He turned on those who helped him once; what's to say he will not do it again?"

"Revered Mother, if I may interject," said Leliana, stepping forward. "These are…unusual times. While the Qunari may be dangerous, with us I know he can do good to compensate for the evil he has committed. And these are Grey Wardens after all – if anyone can control him, they can."

"I suppose you are right, my child," sighed the Revered Mother. "These are desperate times indeed and we may all be dead soon enough anyway. Here," she said, handing me a worn key. "This will secure his release."

"Thank you," I replied, surprised by her sudden change of attitude.

"I only hope you know what you are doing," she sighed wearily. "May the Maker watch over you."

"Your trust will not be misplaced, your Reverence," added Leliana.

"How did you do that?" I whispered to Leliana as we exited the Chantry once more. "How did you get her to change her mind so quickly?"

Leliana blushed. "Oh, it's nothing really. Being a Sister, I just learned how to phrase requests in a way that sounded acceptable to her Reverence."

"I see," I said slowly, though my curiosity had been piqued. I resolved to find out why chirpy girl was so secretive about her remarkable talents.

10


	12. Deeds and Consequences

_I wrestled a lot with the chapter and subsequently felt compelled to re-write it several times. I hope the efforts make up for the wait, and I can assure you that the next chapter is already in progress. Happy reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 12 – Deeds and Consequences**

_"No good deed goes unpunished." _

– Clare Boothe Luce

By the time we had released Sten and had managed to track down his belongings, it was well past nightfall. After an intense discussion, we concluded that there was not much point in trying to strike out in the dark, especially with darkspawn roaming the area, so we decided to set up a makeshift camp on the outskirts of Lothering as there were no spare rooms anywhere in the village. Not to mention the fact that one look at Sten made every villager slam their door in our faces.

After a quick meal, Sten stoically offered to take the first watch. None of the others protested and we settled down for the night. Pretty soon the crackling of the fire was accompanied by soft snores, but it took sleep a while to claim me. My mind could not seem to stop thinking about the newest member of our group. I knew we had made the right decision about freeing him – no person deserved the fate the town had had in store for him – but the Revered Mother's warning was something that could not easily be ignored. I knew next to nothing about the Qunari so I had no idea if he really was as dangerous as the people of Lothering made him out to be, but I also knew that _shem_ ignorance and superstition were just as dangerous as the unknown, if not more so.

When I finally drifted off, my dreams were once again plagued by strange nightmares. So once again, I jolted awake with sweat pouring down my back and feeling short of breath. After trying and failing to get back to sleep, I kicked my cloak off and went to sit by the dying fire. Leliana, who was supposed to be on watch, was snoring contentedly on the other side of the embers. Dawn was still a ways off, so I prepared myself for a chilly night. The Mabari, faithfully at my side as always, curled himself around me in an effort to keep me warm. I stroked his head absent-mindedly as my mind wandered again.

Alistair had mentioned that dreams were connected to the Joining, but I have not had a chance to talk to him about it. I briefly contemplated waking him to ask him, but I decided against it. He had been through a lot as well, first with the loss of Duncan and now the bad news about Arl Eamon. My troubles seemed petty in comparison…

"Bad dreams?"

Swirling around, I was astonished to find him standing behind me. "Sorry if I woke you…" I apologised.

"Don't be," Alistair said, sitting down next to me. "Though I am surprised that the others have managed to sleep through your constant shuffling and groaning."

"Well, at least they will have had a good night's sleep…" I grumbled, grounding my fist into my bleary eyes.

"Yeah, that's something else that you will have to wave good-bye to, now that you're a Grey Warden." After a pause he asked, "What kind of dreams have you been having?"

"Ones filled with darkness. And fear. They make me feel like…"

"…you've lost all hope?"

"Yes… And there are moving shapes that fill me with dread, but I cannot make them out."

"What you're seeing might be the thoughts of the Archdemon," offered Alistair. "Prophetic dreams are not unusual after a Joining, though they normally take months to manifest. Maybe the Blight has progressed further than we originally thought…"

"What do you mean?"

"Prophetic dreams are generally a sign that the Horde has grown to such a size that the Archdemon can no longer conceal its intentions. And, it also means that it's preparing for a full scale attack on Ferelden."

"Oh…" was all I could say. "How much time do you think we have?"

"Not as much as I had hoped…"

"This whole being a Warden thing isn't turning out to be as rosy as the stories would have you believe," I muttered grimly. "Not that I imagined it to be a walk in the glade to begin with, but I am annoyed that Duncan was not honest with me from the start."

"Are you still angry with him?"

The question made me pause. "No…" I admitted. "I was wrong to blame him for the deaths of Tamlen, Jory and Daveth. But, at the time it was all just so overwhelming…"

"I think he understood that," replied Alistair, laying a hand on my shoulder. "He was always good at understanding…"

"Duncan was very important to you wasn't he?" I asked softly.

"Yes," Alistair admitted. "I suppose he was. He rescued me from life as a Templar, even though he didn't have to. I never really thanked him for that…"

"What do you mean 'rescued'?" I queried. "Is being a Warden really an improvement over being a Templar?"

"Yes," Alistair replied with conviction. "When I joined the Templar Order, I was not fully prepared for what it entailed. Had I known beforehand, I probably would have seriously contemplated running away."

"What did they not tell you?" I asked, intrigued. Alistair had not really talked about his past before, except for a few snippets here and there, so naturally, I was curious to find out more about my fellow Warden.

"Lyrium addiction, for one."

"What is that?"

"Lyrium is a mineral that is used to…enhance magical abilities. The Circle of Magi use it to travel to the Fade while the Chantry use it to help Templars 'develop their talents'. There was also a small amount in the concoction Wardens drink during a Joining. It is highly addictive and dangerous when used without proper precautions. Most Templars become completely dependent on it within a month or two…and, since the Chantry controls the lyrium trade, they become totally dependent on the Chantry. Basically it's a means of control."

"That's terrible…" I gasped.

"That's not the worst of it," continued Alistair. "Since lyrium acts on a person's mental state, in certain people it brings out psychotic behaviour. There are stories of Templars who just…snapped and butchered entire villages. Of course, the Chantry does not like to advertise such mishaps, and, since the Chantry doesn't normally let Templars get away and spread their secrets, not many people know."

"So… you were forced to take it as well?" I asked in a small voice. In my mind I had a sudden image of Alistair going berserk and frothing at the mouth as he slaughtered his way through the realm.

"Luckily, no," he admitted. I expelled a breath I did not realise I had been holding. "Duncan conscripted me into the Wardens before I took my vows to become a full Templar…"

"So he saved your life?" I breathed, putting two and two together.

"Yes, in a way he did," Alistair confirmed. Casting his eyes down, he said softly, "I'd…I'd like to have a proper funeral for him when all this is done, assuming that we're all still alive. I don't think he had any family to speak of…"

"He had you," I said. "And the other Grey Wardens. They're kind of like family, aren't they?"

"Yes, I suppose. Though I doubt any of the Grey Wardens who weren't at Ostagar know what has happened yet."

"Can't we try sending word to them?"

"We could try… But it would take months for any message to reach them, and by that time there would be nothing they could do."

"Then I guess it's up to us to stop this Blight as soon as we can," I said with more conviction than I felt. "And avenge Duncan and the rest of those who were betrayed by Loghain."

Alistair mustered a small smile. "Spoken like a true commander," he said. After a pause he added, "I…I know it's not much, but I'm glad that I'm not doing it all by myself."

"Me too," I replied, giving him a small smile in return.

The moment was shattered by the Mabari's low growl. Looking around, I spotted half a dozen shadows moving slowly through the darkness towards us.

"I think we have company," I whispered to Alistair, edging slowly towards my bedroll and my weapons.

"I wouldn't be doing that if I were you, elf," snapped a man's voice as my fingers touched my blades. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that several rough-looking men were holding knives against the necks of Leliana and Morrigan. Sten was still sitting in the cross-legged position he had adopted in lieu of sleeping, and had a rusty pitchfork pressed into his side. Alistair was also surrounded.

"What do you want?" I asked, irritated that I had not sensed the danger sooner.

"We've come to take what belongs to this town," the man replied, strolling up to Sten. He seemed familiar somehow, but in the semi-darkness, I could not make out his features.

"And what might that be?" I queried, pulling my throwing knife from my boot as I stood up slowly.

"For one, the murderer," replied the man, booting Sten in the gut. "For another, the loot you took from them bandits, along with the bounty the new king has posted on the Grey Wardens."

"Look," I said. "I don't know where you got your information from, but…"

"I'd save my breath if I were you, elf. You ain't be sweet-talking yourself out of this one," said the man who I now recognised as the one from the King's Road who had riled the crowd up. "Now, I suggest the lot of you come along quietly. You don't want trouble do you?"

"No, but you obviously do," I muttered as my wrist snapped forward. My mother's knife embedded itself into the man's neck, making him stagger backwards in surprise and pain. Sten exploded from his bedroll, catching his captors off-guard, and put his large fists into action, while Alistair barrelled into another man with some sort of war-cry.

Suddenly, my grandfather's swords were in my hands, and I had launched myself at the nearest thug, who lifted a scythe in defence. My blades slashed easily through the feeble resistance offered by the wooden handle, biting into the man's neck and making him drop the broken pieces with a wail. A small fireball flew past my ear to scorch another man behind me. Glancing up, I saw Morrigan give me an arch smile before booting a farmer in the crotch. Leliana was also holding her own as she danced between two more men.

Soon enough, all of our would-be assailants were on the ground, either dead or unconscious. Sheathing my blades with trembling, blood-soaked hands I tried to calm my ragged breathing. I had just killed my first human and the realisation made me want to retch. No doubt he had been some poor woman's son or husband who was just trying to do what he thought was best for his family in uncertain and dangerous times. Or maybe he had been dragged into coming along by his friends or neighbours who had been attracted by the promise of gold beyond their wildest dreams. No matter the reason, two men were now dead at my hand and the ease with which I had killed them made me shiver with horror at the person I was becoming.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Alistair was standing in front of me, concern tinging his voice.

Jerking my gaze away from the corpse at my feet, my eyes met his. "We are no better than the darkspawn…" I whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous!" scoffed my fellow Warden. "What makes you…?" The expression on my face must have been truly tragic, for it stopped Alistair mid-sentence. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he said, "Don't you dare blame this on yourself too. These poor sods brought this upon themselves. You were defending yourself and the rest of our motley group."

"But, their families… It seems wherever I go, bloodshed follows in my wake…"

"You are a Grey Warden – blood _will_ be shed wherever you go, either by you or by others on your orders. But," he paused to lift my chin with his fingers so I was looking into his eyes, "no matter how bleak things may seem, remember that by your actions you are helping to avert even worse bloodshed. At least, that is what I tell myself at night."

"And do you really believe that?"

"Yes," he replied with conviction. "And you should too, otherwise we will never make it out of this mess alive."

"All right," I agreed meekly, not really sure if I meant it.

Alistair surveyed me for a moment. I don't think he was convinced either, but he gave a small nod and pressed my mother's blade into my hand. "Good knife, that," he said before turning back to the others. "All right, everyone. Pack your things and let's get moving."

"But, it's the middle of the night," protested Leliana. Her hair was a mess and she had a splatter of blood on one cheek.

"If you want to stay behind as bait for the angry villagers bearing pitchforks and knives, be my guest," retorted Alistair as he strapped on his armour. "Otherwise, I suggest you pack your things and get ready for a brisk march."

"Thank you, Alistair, for that most invigorating speech," drawled Morrigan. "You certainly know how to rally the troops."

Alistair rolled his eyes as he strapped his bedroll to his pack.

As I bent down to do the same, a large shadow loomed over me. Glancing up fearfully, I exhaled when I realised that it was Sten, wearing exotic-looking armour that moulded to his form like a second skin. His face was as expressionless as ever, and seemed to glow amber in the darkness.

"You were under no obligation to do that."

"Do what?" I asked, confused.

"Avert my fate once again."

"So you would have preferred to be dragged off by those men to be put in chains a second time?"

"My preference is of no consequence. I have committed a crime and for this I must pay, sooner or later." Turning abruptly, he marched off to stand a little way off the rest of the group, who were now ready to depart.

"Feylin, are you ready?" asked Alistair, hoisting his pack onto his back.

"Yes," I replied, a bit dazed by my weird conversation with Sten. The excitement caused by the sudden fight was also starting to wear off, making me realise just how tired I really was. Stuffing my sleeping roll in my pack, I made my way towards the others on legs that felt like stone.

Alistair set off at a brisk pace, intent to put as much distance between ourselves and Lothering as possible before sunrise. Initially everyone was silent, their attention turned to finding their way in the dark and keeping up with my fellow Warden. But as the sun rose, and no obvious danger presented itself, the pace slowed and conversations were struck up. Even my own dark mood lifted with the bird song of the new day.

"…but how can you say you do not believe in something that has been proven to exist?" Leliana was asking Morrigan, in front of me.

"Proven by whom?" countered Morrigan. "By the Chantry? I can hardly call them objective."

"But it has been written that…"

"And because something is written down, it becomes infallible?"

"No, but…"

"There you go then. You have managed to defeat your own argument."

"Let me ask you this, then: what if there was a Maker?"

"Then I would wonder why He chose to abandon His creation. It seems terribly irresponsible of Him."

"He left us because we were determined to make our own way, even if we hurt ourselves, and He could not bear to watch."

"But how do you know? You cannot ask Him. Perhaps He has gone to make new creations elsewhere, and abandoned this one as a dismal failure, best forgotten."

"I do not need to know because I have faith. I believe in Him and feel His hope and His love."

"Ah, 'faith'," sighed Morrigan. "How quickly those who have no answers invoke that word."

"How can someone who practices magic have so little capacity to believe in that which she cannot see?" cried Leliana in exasperation.

"Magic," declared Morrigan, "is real. I can touch it and command it and I need no faith for it to fill me up inside."

"Your life must be so empty without something to believe in," sighed Leliana. "It must be so sad to look forward to nothing, to feel no love and seek no reward in this life or the afterlife."

"Yes, the anguish tears at me so. You have seen through me to my sad, sad core."

"Are you mocking me?" gasped Leliana in horror.

"You noticed? It appears your perceptive powers know no bounds…"

Shaking my head with a smile at the heated exchange, I glanced back at Sten, who was bringing up the rear. He was as cryptic and serious as ever, his slanted eyes focused ahead. In addition to being tall and broad shouldered, in the sunlight his brown skin seemed to shine with a metallic hue, as if he had been dusted with gold. His silver hair was braided in a foreign way and seemed to shine as well. I could see no visible tattoos or markings on his body, but around his neck he wore a heavy torque with an unusual gem at the centre which I could not identify, and despite his exotic-looking armour, I could see no visible weapons.

"Are my features pleasing to your eyes?" queried Sten without looking at me.

"Sorry," I muttered, facing forward again. "I did not mean to stare."

"A common habit of the inhabitants of this land," the Qunari observed.

Seeing my chance to find out more about this strange being, I said, "You have to admit that you stand out a bit."

"Perhaps."

"Is it a feature of your race to be so cryptic?"

"Is that an accusation or an observation?"

"It was a question."

"In that case I cannot give you an answer."

"What?" I blurted. "But surely you would know what the characteristics of the Qunari are, seeing as you are one yourself."

"I am a Qunari, yes," he admitted. "But that does not give me the right to make sweeping generalisations about all those who follow the teachings of the Qun."

"So being a Qunari means that you are, in fact, a member of a religious order?"

"I thought I had made that clear."

"Not really…" I muttered. "So what do your people call themselves then?"

"Qunari."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you _angry_ with me for saving your life?"

"Where did you get this notion from?"

"From what you said last night. And from the fact that you are refusing to give me a proper answer to any question."

"I never stated that I was angry with your actions. And my answers are perfectly proper in relation to your questions. Though why you wish to waste time asking them when we have a task ahead of us, I not understand."

"I am trying to figure out who you are and whether I can trust you."

"I am Sten, a Quanari. That is all you need to know."

"How is that supposed to make me trust you?"

"It is not. Whether your trust me or not is your concern, not mine. For my part, all you need to know is that I joined your cause willingly and will see it through to the end, or until I am slain."

"Why are you so eager to die?" I pressed. This was something that I could not get my head around.

"Why are you so eager to ask pointless questions?" the Qunari countered, fixing his alien eyes on me in a way that made me feel like a silly child. He quickly flicked them away again and focused them on the road ahead.

"Never mind…" I grumbled. Trying to get information out of Sten was like trying to squeeze water out of a rock. Increasing my pace in frustration, I joined Alistair at the front.

"Are you all right?" he asked, noticing my scowl. "You aren't still thinking about what happened last night, are you?"

"No," I sighed. "It's Sten. I can't figure him out."

"You mean Ser Block of Stone?" asked Alistair. "I wouldn't waste your time on him. He obvious ate a sour grape at some point and is still trying to get rid of the taste." He must have seen my confused expression, for he said, "What I mean is that he is a grumpy old sod who, for some reason or another, doesn't like interacting with people."

"A grumpy old sod with a death wish," I corrected. I sighed again. "I'm just not sure if we can trust him."

"Are you regretting letting him out of that cage?"

"No," I replied adamantly. "I'm just worried that he will drag the rest of us into an inescapable situation just so he can deal with whatever demons are haunting him."

"I won't let that happen," said Alistair seriously. "If he ever poses a danger to you, or the others, I will personally knife him in the balls."

"My, my Alistair, you certainly know how to flatter the womenfolk," observed Morrigan from behind us. "Is it customary for Grey Wardens to whisper sweet nothings to each other?" A novel method for boosting morale, perhaps?"

"We weren't whispering," protested Alistair.

"But, you _were_ exchanging sweet nothings…?"

"No, I meant…"

"Because it seems to me most undisciplined for an organization that claims it will do whatever is necessary to end the darkspawn threat to become distracted by its members of the opposite sex."

"I was not…!"

"Why have we stopped?" interrupted Sten, joining us. "Is there a threat?"

"No," I replied. "We were just…"

"Then this delay is unnecessary," he pronounced. "There are darkspawn to be fought and we are wasting time standing here."

"See what I meant about the sour grapes?" Alistair whispered to me as Sten marched past to take the lead.

"The Qunari are known to be an abstruse race who take their callings very seriously," explained Leliana.

"And I suppose this is written somewhere?" drawled Morrigan.

"Yes, actually," replied Leliana, before she realised she was being baited again. "I read it in…"

"Then how do you know that…"

"Oh, shut up…" muttered Leliana, stalking past.

Alistair and I exchanged surprised glances. "Seems like the sweet Sister has some claws after all…" he mused.

"First impressions are deceptive, remember?" I grinned.

"Yes…" muttered Alistair, suddenly downcast. "They certainly are…"

I was about to ask him about his abrupt change in demeanour, but before I could open my mouth, Alistair raised his eyes from his dusty boots and proceeded to march after the others. I stared at his retreating back for a moment, wondering what was going through his head, and then followed with a sigh.

Seeing that Leliana was sulking ahead, I moved to join her. "Are you okay," I asked.

"Yeah," mumbled the former Sister, trying to wipe a stray tear away without me noticing. In this vulnerable state, she looked much younger. I wondered how old she actually was.

"Don't let Morrigan's words get to your heart," I said. "She is just trying to rile you up."

"But what she says is true!" sniffed Leliana. "I don't know anything about the wider world apart from what I have read in books."

"It's a place to start," I replied. "I knew even less than you do when I left home, but I've managed to get by until now. And don't think that Morrigan is as all-knowing as she makes herself out to be either."

"What do you mean?" she asked, wide eyed.

"She was raised in the swamp by a woman named Flemeth and has had very little contact with the outside world."

"_The_ Flemeth?" gaped Leliana. "The famous Witch of the Wilds? But that makes her an apostate!"

"Does that bother you?"

"No, I suppose not… But now I understand why she was so derisive about my faith. If I were in her place, I wouldn't want to believe in a god whose servants were tasked to hunt me down, either."

I looked at Leliana with new eyes. For her seemingly young age, she was wiser than most of the _shem_ we had encountered so far. "Would you mind telling me more about this dream of yours?"

"I-I don't know how to explain it," fumbled Leliana. "There was an impenetrable darkness… it was so dense, so real. And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise… I stood on a peak and watched as darkness consumed everything. And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I fell…or jumped, I'm not sure which and the darkness drew me in."

I nodded, thinking of the nightmares I have been having. Was it possible that Leliana could see the intentions of the archdemon as well? I made a note to ask Alistair. "What happened then?"

"I woke up and when to the Chantry's gardens as I always do to think about my dreams. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered. Everyone knew that that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled – the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was… a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out his hand to say, 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'"

"How did this make you want to help us?"

"Maybe what Morrigan said is true – maybe the Maker has abandoned this world. How else could the Blight have arisen in the first place? But I cannot just sit by and let the darkness devour everything. That's why I think I jumped in my dream. It was terrifying, but the rose I found the next morning confirmed that it was the right choice."

"But why help us specifically?" I prompted. "I don't see anything in your dream that points directly to us."

"When you walked into the inn, I just had a sudden flash of insight. When I found out you were Grey Wardens, I understood – who else can end the Blight, but you?"

I looked away from her eager gaze uncomfortably. I envied her enthusiasm, but her unwavering trust in our ability to triumph against this Blight made me uneasy. All the odds were stacked against us and I wondered whether Leliana knew that she was most likely going to her death. Sten seemed comfortable with the idea – eager even – but I doubted that the former Sister understood fully what she had gotten herself into.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. We stayed close to the road, but not on it, in case we met any more misguided opportunists who thought they could make some easy money buy nabbing themselves a couple of Grey Wardens. We stopped around noon for a quick lunch of rations we had managed to procure in Lothering and then carried on at a brisk pace. By the time we reached the small glade that was going to serve as our camp for the night, everyone was exhausted. Apart from Sten, who gazed at the world as stoically as ever.

"Oh…my poor feet…" moaned Leliana, peeling her slippers off with difficulty.

"Such shoes are not made for long-distance journeys," observed Morrigan, rolling out her bedroll. "If you want durable footwear, I would suggest wild boar hide boots."

"I didn't know they made hide from wild boars," commented Alistair, unstrapping his armour. Steam rose from his shoulders and I wondered how he could bring himself to put on that heavy piece of metal each morning.

"They don't," replied Morrigan. "Only my mother does."

"What else does your mother make, I wonder…?" muttered Alistair.

"Decent food for one," Morrigan shot back, holding up a small bag of dried meat with disgust. "I do not know how you city people manage to subsist off this on the road."

"You have only been eating them for a day."

"Which is already more than I can stomach," snapped the sorceress. "I suggest you move out of the way before the very smell of this so-called nourishment makes me throw up on you."

I surveyed my weary companions and realised that we could all do with some decent food. Bone tired though I was, I knew that I could quickly procure some fresh meat. I had notice some pheasant tracks a little way back – the nest could not be far off. Even though I did not have a bow, I could make do with my mother's knife, but it meant that I would have to be extra careful not to make any sound. I said as much to my companions, who responded with enthusiasm.

"Sounds like an idea," agreed Alistair. "I will gather some firewood."

"And I saw some herbs and berries nearby. They would give some flavour to a stew," offered Morrigan.

"I shall guard the camp," declared Sten, crossing his arms in front of him decisively.

"I…I can make the beds," suggested Leliana, at a slight loss for what to do.

The tasks having been divided, I whistled for the Mabari and slipped into the undergrowth to hunt. I did not get far before the quiet of the night was overwhelmed by raised voices. Crouching down behind a shrub, I peeked around the foliage to determine what the source of the commotion was. What I saw made me gape in surprise.

Dwarves! I had never thought I would see not one, but two, above ground. All the stories said that they never left their underground cities, yet here they were, trying to pull a heavily laden cart out of a rut.

"Nay, Sandal me boy!" shouted the older-looking one, who was standing at the front of the cart. "Push! Not pull!"

"Sorry, Da…" mumbled the younger one, tears springing to his eyes.

"Oh, son, don't take it so hard," cried the father, coming around the back of the cart to comfort the younger one. "I guess we'll just have to leave it."

"Sorry to interrupt," I said, stepping out from behind the bush. "But I don't suppose I could help?" Alistair and Morrigan were right – not matter what the situation, I could not resist helping people. It must be my Dalish upbringing, I noted grudgingly.

"Mighty timely arrival, there my friend!" greeted the elder dwarf. "I would be much obliged by any help at the moment."

"What is the problem exactly?"

"The axel has snapped, going into that mighty big hole over there. I can fix it, but I need to get the cart out so I can see what I'm doin', so to speak."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Get behind the cart with me boy, over there, and push, while I pull at the front. With the three of us, it should come clear."

Nodding, I stepped into position and got ready to push. Next to me, the young dwarf, Sandal, I think his father had called him, rolled up his sleeves purposefully.

"One the count of three – one, two, three!"

I pushed with all my might and I could hear the dwarves straining as well. The cart rocked a bit, but could not get near the lip of the hole.

"Why don't you lighten the load on the cart?" I suggested, wiping a sheen of perspiration from my brow. The cart was seriously heavy – I had no idea how the two of them managed to pull it from one place to another.

"What a smashing idea!" cried the elder dwarf. "I can't believe I did not think of it myself! I am so used to piling things onto it that I guess I had forgotten that I could take things off of it too!"

Hopping onto the bench, he began lifting barrels and chests and boxes from the back, dumping them on the ground with a lot of crashing and clattering. I winced as each item hit the dirt, hoping that nothing of value would be broken.

"All right, that should do it!" declared the dwarf.

We all got into position again, and this time, the cart rolled out of the hole with only a little bit of protest.

"Thank you ever so much my friend," gushed the dwarf, grabbing my hand and giving it a vigorous shake. "I don't know how I could ever repay you."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I don't suppose you have any spare food you could share?" I asked hopefully. It was definitely too late to go track wild fowl in the undergrowth now, and the others would be wondering where I was. "My companions and I only have second-rate rations and we have a long journey ahead of us."

"Why, of course!" exclaimed the dwarf, jumping onto his cart again. "I have a limited selection at present, on account of the Blight and all, but you are welcome to anything that catches your fancy, for a discounted price, of course!"

"Discounted price?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Lass," said the dwarf meaningfully. "What kind of merchant and entrepreneur would I be if I gave all me goods away for free?"

"A very poor one," I replied with a small smile. Beggars could not be choosers and paying a bit of money for some decent food instead of scampering around in the dark hunting for some was a bargain I was willing to take, even if it offended my Dalish sensibilities. I had just offered the dwarf free labour after all.

"Exactly! Now, I have some pickles, some dark bread, some sour apples, a couple of barrels of salted pork and…"

"Just give me a bit of everything," I interrupted. "That way everyone can pick and choose what they want."

"Another smashing idea! In me experience, elves are a lot shrewder than humans give them credit for." He paused in his rummaging for a moment and peered at me from underneath bushy eyebrows. "If me eyes are not lying you aren't from any city, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"A Dalish then," confirmed the dwarf, nodding to himself. "Have not met one of your kind in an age. What brings you out onto the road in such dangerous times?"

"Duty," I replied. "And vengeance."

"A risky combination," noted the dwarf. "Sounds like you'll be doin' a lot of fighting where you're going then. I have a good supply of weapons, in case you are interested."

"I don't suppose you have any decent bows by any chance?" I asked, expectantly. I still have not had a chance to acquire a suitable replacement for my father's bow…not that an item of such importance could ever be truly replaced, but I could really do with a bow out here. Flemeth had not deigned it important to rescue my bow as well when she plucked us from the Tower of Ishal…if Morrigan's story could be believed.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I can also throw in a quiver of arrows for free, since you are the first real customer I have had in months and I am feeling generous."

"In that case, let me extend some generosity your way as well," I replied. "Why don't you share our fire for the night? It will be safer and I am sure there will be a few more customers eager to browse your wares," I added, thinking of Leliana and her sore feet.

"That is very kind of you, friend," smiled the dwarf warmly. "We would be honoured."

"Please, call me Feylin."

"And you may call me Bodhan. Bodhan Feddic, and this here is me son, Sandal. Say 'hello', my boy."

"Hello," greeted the younger dwarf timidly.

"You'll have to excuse him – he's a bit slow in the head. Good with enchantments though – one of those Tranquil fellows actually called him a savant. Can you imagine? I had no idea there was such a thing!"

"Really?" I asked, my ears perking up. Morrigan had mentioned that such people existed. Maybe he could examine my grandfather's swords! Though no doubt it would cost a fortune…

"Right," declared Bodhan, clapping his hands together and interrupting my musings. "Where is this camp of yours, then? I could do with a warm meal myself, after all that hard work."

With some difficulty, we managed to wrestle the broken cart back to the campsite. As we emerged into the clearing, I had to duck to avoid nearly getting my head sliced off by Alistair's longsword.

"Is that really the way to greet your fellow Warden?" I protested.

"Sorry…" he apologised. "Thought you were darkspawn. Or that you had been taken by darkspawn. You were gone for ages – you had me…us worried."

"Alistair really is not so good at managing crises," commented Morrigan from the fireside as she calmly chopped root vegetables into a pot. "He was about to mount a full scale invasion into the underbrush to fight off the fluffy little bunnies in search of your remains. Are you sure that he is mentally fit to lead our party?"

"Hey! I think I dealt with the so-called crisis – not that I am admitting that there was one in the first place; Feylin is a grown woman-elf who can take care of herself – rationally and strategically, as befit of a party commander."

"Anyway…" I interjected, before the two of them could get into a full-blown argument, "this here is Bodhun and Sandal. They will be joining us for the night."

"I do not think it is wise to invite strangers to share our fire," said Sten, subjecting the two dwarves to a piercing glare. "We do not know their true intentions."

"Like we know yours?" I countered. Sten grunted in disdain, but made no further comment. "They are travelling merchants and are willing to sell us some of their wares for a discounted price."

"Oh, please tell me you have some walking boots!" cried Leliana, hobbling over to us.

"I could do with some dried herbs," mused Morrigan.

"And I need a new whetstone," announced Alistair. "My old one seems to have sprouted legs and walked off."

"Please, please," shouted Bodhain over the din. "I have all manner of items to suit your needs. There is no need to push and shove." Glancing over at me, I saw a small smile form underneath his moustache. I smiled back wholeheartedly this time. Regardless of what Morrigan and Alistair thought, helping the needy was always rewarding, even if that reward did not immediately make itself apparent. "Is there nothing ye want, lass?"

Looking back at Bodhain, I could see his pewter grey eyes staring intently at me. The others were happily clutching their purchases as they wandered back to the fire. Casting my eyes over the cart, I ran through a mental checklist of my belongings. "You don't happen to have a decent bow by any chance?"

"Actually, I think I may," he pronounced, jabbing a finger into the air. Jumping onto the cart, he began rummaging around again. After a few minutes, he triumphantly held up a bow wrapped protectively in soft leather. He handed it over reverently, almost as if bestowing a kingly gift. "It's the best I've got," he admitted.

Unwrapping the bow slowly, I gasped. It was made of heartwood, a rare timbre used only by the Dalish. The wood had been polished to a sheen and the limbs had been painstakingly carved with woodland scenes so lifelike that I half-expected the animals to come to life and jump off the panel. "It's beautiful," I breathed. "How did you manage to find something like this?"

"As a travelling merchant, one comes across all manner of strange and wonderful things. If I remember correctly, a gentleman traded that particular item for some silverite gauntlets."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked guardedly. The warmth of the wood radiated into my palm and I knew that this was the bow for me.

"Taking into account all your help, I am willing to give it to you for the very reasonable price of ten gold pieces."

"Ten?" I spluttered. It was almost my entire share of the bandits' loot.

"Lass," chided the dwarf dryly. "A bow like that is worth at least fifteen. That is a hefty discount you are recievin'."

"Alright…" I acceded grudgingly, pulling out my coin purse and counting out the money. "Do I at least get a quiver of arrows for the price?"

"You will make a poor merchant of me, lass," grumbled Bodhain, but he produced the arrows nevertheless.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "By the smell of things, dinner is ready. I would be honoured for you to join us."

The dwarf's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Ah, with hospitality like that, how can I refuse?"

Making our way to the fire, we were greeted with steaming bows of savour stew. As I gobbled down my share, I wondered back to the last time I had had a proper meal, decent company and a relaxed atmosphere. Glancing around the campfire, I could see that Bodhun was regaling us with stories about his travels between mouthfuls of food as Leliana and Morrigan listened intently. Alistair was sharpening his sword with his newly acquired whetstone, throwing in a witty question or observation every now and again, while Sten ate his food silently, though I did notice that he slipped a couple of morsels every now and then to the Mabari, who was wagging his tail contentedly.

It almost felt like I was back home again.


End file.
